Page 4 of Honeycombs & Homecomings

“Your father was a great artist, but I didn’t think I could sell it for more than the three-thousand you wanted for it, and I need to make a profit. But now that I know it was your father’s personal desk, I know I can sell it for more.” She picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her sleeve. “Just the fact that this was a piece not only crafted by your father but also used by him gives it extra value.”

Jo swallowed the lump forming in her throat, her gaze shooting to the desk unwittingly. They needed every cent they could get, but this was her father’s desk. A desk she’d spent many an hour under as a kid, reading or coloring when she needed space from Allie or her mom.

Millie huffed. “Fine. I’ll give you four thousand. I’m sure you can agree that’s more than fair.”

Allie stepped forward. “What part of not for sale, do you not—”

“We’ll take it,” Jo said.

Allie’s gaze whipped back to her. She turned on Jo and placed her hands on her hips.

Jo raised her brows at her twin, then shook her head. She stepped around her. “Make out the check before you leave and it’s yours.”

A wide, satisfied grin spread over Millie’s face. She reached out her perfectly manicured hand. “You have a deal.” Jo took it.

With a flick of her hand, Millie sent the movers on their way with the desk.

A small knock on the frame of the open door drew Jo’s attention. A tall man with a cowboy hat and crooked smile stood in the door. His jeans, white t-shirt, and boots called to mind images of western novels and movies. Jo was tempted to look for the man’s horse.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, lowering the brim of his hat.

Allie bristled at Jo’s side. Allie hated being called ma’am, but even more by people who were older than her. To people older than her, she wanted to be called miss.

“Is this your house?” he asked.

“Not for long,” Millie said, making no attempt to be subtle in her dislike of them.

Allie clenched a fist and took a step toward Millie. Jo grabbed her arm, yanking her back.

“Yes, can I help you?” Jo asked.

Millie raised one thinly tweezed brow and narrowed her gaze at Allie.

Allie twisted her arm in Jo’s grasp.

“I hope so.” He took a step inside, and for one absurd moment, Jo thought he might have to duck to get through the door. He didn’t. His gaze shot between Jo and Allie, and where Jo had a grip on Allie, and a smile tugged at his lips. “Name’s Brandon Carroll, I’m the new homeowner.”

Millie chuckled under her breath.

Allie’s jaw dropped; her attention arrested from Millie. Tears welled in her eyes. She turned and rushed toward the back of the house. No doubt making a beeline for the stables where they’d locked up her dog, a Labrador retriever-mutt mix named Honey, with the horses. He’d been snapping at the heels of the movers the moment they’d started hauling furniture out of the house. Allie had seen his actions as nothing less than heroic, and he’d be her hero now, too.

Jo turned back from her sister’s wake and forced a smile for the man. He was staring after Allie, eyes wide, lips drawn tight.

She stepped forward and offered her hand. He took it, tilting her hand and removing his hat like a true southern gentleman. Her dad used to do that, along with a few other older men in town, but the tradition was fading.

“Is your sister all right?” he asked.

“She will be,” Jo said. “You’re here for the keys.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Millie came over, waving the check in her face. “There.”

Jo took the check, and despite her innate good manners ingrained in her by her mother, she glanced down at it, making sure the amount was correct. That was the capitalist in her. Her father would be so proud. She folded it and put it in her pocket.

“I believe that concludes our business.” Jo looked pointedly at the door.

Millie scowled, then turned and sashayed out the door and down the stairs.

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