Small-Town Billionaire

“And before he died, he realized that his priorities were out of whack,” she said. “I’ve told you before, he changed in those last days. I think if he could’ve talked to you one more time, he’d have probably pulled a one-eighty on a lot of that advice you’re still following.”

Ryan didn’t want to hear about Lawrence Brooks’s final days again when, according to Dana, he’d changed his mind about life, business and faith. Basically, he’d wished he’d done everything the opposite of the way he had. But Lawrence Brooks had single-handedly built a Fortune 500 company, and while Dana had stayed with their dad during his last days, Ryan had kept that company running. Still kept it running, in fact. So their father had done something right, and Ryan would keep that something going.

He opened his mouth to tell her that he suspected their father’s change of heart had to do with the fact that he was heavily medicated at the time, but she shook her head.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. One day you’ll understand. But for now, forget I said anything.” She climbed out of the car and hurried around to Ryan’s side to help him exit, but he’d already opened the door, slowly maneuvered his straight leg out and then pushed his way up to the crutches.

“I’ve got it,” he said, “but thanks.”

Her mouth slid to the side, and she stepped a little closer, blue eyes that mirrored his own examining him as he balanced on the crutches. “I’ve missed you, Ryan. And there’s so much more I want to show you, talk to you about, help you to see.”

“We’ve got the whole afternoon. I promised not to work any more today, remember?” He knew she was ready to start preaching to him again, but he didn’t want an intense conversation about life and faith. Not today. Maybe not ever.

Her eyes dimmed and her smile slipped a little. “Yeah, I remember.”

Ryan knew she wanted him to stay here at least until his rehab ended in four weeks. But Lawrence Brooks wouldn’t have stayed away from his business this long, and Ryan wouldn’t, either. He wanted to make a name for himself the way his father had instead of piggybacking on his father’s success, and he couldn’t make a name for himself staying in Claremont. “I want to make a difference,” he said, more to himself than to Dana.

Her gasp should’ve warned him that the hug would follow. She wrapped both arms around him. “Oh, Ryan, that’s what I’ve been praying for, and that’s what Daddy figured out in the end. There’s more to life than money and things. More to life than business.”

She’d misunderstood, and Ryan had to set the record straight.

“No, Dana, I mean that I want to make a difference in business. Let my name be known. Achieve success for myself, instead of because I’m my father’s son.” He took a deep breath, let it out. “I should get back to Chicago. I can finish my rehab therapy there.”

She released him from the hug and pressed a hand to her forehead, spread her fingers and massaged her temples. Then she slid her hand to her throat and said, “Thanks to technology, anything you can do in Chicago can be done here. Didn’t you say that today’s board meeting ran even smoother with the teleconferencing system?”

“It did,” he said, “but...”

An elderly gentleman stepped out of the rear entrance of a store labeled Tiny Tots Treasure Box carrying a bulging white trash bag. He nodded toward them as he dropped it into a nearby Dumpster and then grinned when he recognized Ryan’s sister. “Dana! Good to see you. Are you coming to the toy store?”

She blinked a couple of times, dropped her hand from her throat and appeared to gain her composure before answering, “Not today, Mr. Feazell. But I’ll visit you in a few weeks to get Abi’s birthday present.”

“You do that,” he said. “And I’ll help you pick out something nice.” He then turned his attention to Ryan. “I heard you were in town again, Mr. Brooks. I met you at the wedding, of course, but you met a lot of folks that day. I’ve been praying for you while you recover. I reckon you know Dana put you on the prayer list at church. Looks like you’re doing better,” he said with another grin. “Prayers are working.”

“I guess they are,” Ryan said, and hoped this wouldn’t start a religious discussion. Dana was already all geared up for preaching, but Ryan wasn’t in the mood for a sermon.

Thankfully, the older man simply nodded his agreement and then returned to the marked door. “I’ll see you at church Sunday, Dana,” he said, and then to Ryan, “We’d love to see you there, too.”

Ryan smiled but didn’t commit to anything, then turned to his sister to see her smirking. “What?” he asked.

“Just thinking how cool it is to watch God work,” she said.

“Aren’t we supposed to be delivering some camp materials?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut, which told Ryan that he probably didn’t want to hear whatever she’d been about to say. Then she turned, pointed toward the alley leading to the square and said, “Come on, I’ll show you the way to Maribeth’s store.”

And just like that, his attention turned from their difference of opinion over their father’s change of heart to the intriguing woman who’d been hovering in his thoughts for days—equally unsettling. Ryan couldn’t put his finger on the reason Maribeth Walton had such an effect on him. Yes, she was beautiful, but he was often around beautiful women and had dated some of the most striking ladies in the world. Maybe her coolness toward him, her apparent apathy toward his status, piqued his interest.

But for whatever reason, Ryan had a serious attraction toward the woman they were going to meet, the kind of magnetism he’d only experienced once before, when Nannette securely captured his heart and then shattered it while the whole world read about the escapade in the tabloids.

Ryan refused to let that happen again. He’d maintain emotional distance when he and Dana saw Maribeth in a few minutes, and soon, he’d secure permanent distance between himself and the intriguing woman by going back to Chicago. Out of sight, out of mind, and all of that.

He needed to get back to his world, begin working on how to make his name stand out in the Brooks International empire and control the urge to lose his wits over another woman.

“Well, what do you think?” Dana asked when they exited the alley to find themselves in the midst of the box of buildings that comprised the Claremont town square.

Ryan scanned the unusual surroundings. “It’s nice,” he said. He had expected the square to take him back in time, but he hadn’t anticipated how far, as though the entire town had been plucked from the 1950s and dropped in the middle of north Alabama. Very Mayberry.

A three-tiered fountain bordered by two mature oak trees centered the square, with children surrounding its edge tossing pennies into the sparkling water. Park benches dotted the grassy area around the fountain and held several elderly couples feeding squawking geese from bags of bread.

Elaborate eaves and fabric awnings decorated brick storefronts, and the majority of the shops had sidewalk displays to appeal to passing shoppers. There was a candy store, Mr. Feazell’s toy store, a craft store, a barber shop complete with an old-fashioned striped pole, a five-and-dime, an art gallery, a bookstore, a sporting goods store and a shop titled Consigning Women. And that happened to be the place where his sister stopped, opened the door and waited for him to go inside.

This was where Maribeth worked?

A cool breeze met them upon entering, as did the scent of apples and cinnamon, reminding Ryan of the woman who carried the same sweet scent.

Music filled the air. He didn’t recognize the song, but the lyrics quickly told him it was a Christian tune. Then a clear soprano joined in from the back of the store as they made their way through the circular clothing displays.

Ryan took care not to knock anything down with his crutches while also studying the distinctive layout of the place. The clothes weren’t merely hung on racks; they were arranged in ready-to-be-worn ensembles. Tops were paired with skirts and jewelry and shoes, everything a woman would need to match perfectly from head to toe.

While Dana paused to look at a red pantsuit, Ryan took a moment to examine the other original attributes of every outfit. Each one had a ribbon hanging nearby with an attached photo. Flipping over a photograph, Ryan saw a picture of Jennifer Aniston with a caption: “In February 2012, Jennifer Aniston chose a black-and-white chevron-print dress with leather accents for her movie’s premiere. Paired with a black leather clutch, gold jewelry and black pointed-toe heels, her ensemble can be yours for $42.50.”

“This is like Jennifer Aniston’s outfit,” he said to Dana.

His sister grinned. “And this one is like Kristen Stewart’s. And that one is like Gwyneth Paltrow’s.” She pointed to a hot pink dress and strappy heels.

Ryan scanned the store and realized that there was only a small area noted as being for separates in the very back. All other space in the shop was filled with complete outfits. And beside the cash register, a huge wall collage featured countless photos of celebrities wearing clothes that were apparently available in this store.

“Maribeth has talent, doesn’t she? To take an idea—for all women to be able to dress like celebrities—and then create a store to implement that idea?” Dana grinned at Ryan.

“She owns this place?” he asked, awestruck with the exceptional concept—a consignment store that recreated red-carpet looks.

Dana nodded as she moved to a bright yellow sundress and read the ribbon-embellished note. “Scarlett Johansson. I think I remember seeing her wear this.” She scanned the pictures on the celebrity wall. “Yes, there she is. Do you think John would like this on me?” She checked the tag. “The size is right.”

“Ingenious,” Ryan said, marveling at the brilliant idea.

His sister held the dress against herself and viewed herself in a nearby elongated mirror. “I know. It’s like having a personal stylist, but without the effort, or the price tag. Maribeth does all of the work, and it’s a win-win. The folks bringing in items for consignment are happy because they sell more, and the ones buying the outfits are happy, too, because they can dress like the stars for a price that fits their budget. And her place is so popular that women drive all the way from Birmingham to get the look of a star for a price they can afford.” She draped the yellow dress over her arm and grabbed the accompanying red jewelry. “Pretty incredible idea, don’t you think?”

Ryan nodded and wondered if the woman realized the potential of her idea. She was sitting on a gold mine.

“We should probably go tell her we’re here,” Dana said, pointing toward Maribeth, who swayed as she held coral jewelry against a royal blue dress. She’d tacked a photo to the wall nearby and checked the dress against the picture, a photograph from the newest issue of People magazine that featured Pippa Middleton wearing a similar dress and jewels.

Maribeth wore a sleeveless black dress with a thin red belt and sky-high red heels. An assembly of gold bangles traveled up and down her delicate arms as she attached the necklace to the blue dress and then reached for the earrings. Her voice blended with the music, this song about blessings, and when Dana tapped her shoulder, she jumped, let out a high-pitched yelp and tossed one of the earrings in the air.

“Oh, my,” she said, gasping. Red-tipped fingers fluttered beneath her slender throat. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She laughed, leaned down and scooped up the discarded earring, then seemed to notice Dana wasn’t alone. “Oh, hello.”

Ryan didn’t miss the change in her tone, as though she weren’t quite happy with his arrival in her store. Then again, this wasn’t a store for guys. “Hello,” Ryan said. He’d decided to maintain his distance from the woman, but her fascinating concept captivated him. He wanted to know more. “You put all of these outfits together, based on what celebrities wear?”

She’d seemed cool at first, but her face lit up with the question. “And based on what customers turn in for consignment, of course. Do you...” She paused. “Well, what do you think of the store?”