I rushed downstairs and through the living room, grabbing my leather bag and the portfolio I’d prepared that waited inside. Silently, I went through the details in my head. The things I would say, employing some of the strategy tools I’d learned back in San Francisco.
Maybe I was supposed to have gone there. Maybe that experience had been preparing me for this day all along.
I didn’t mean to falter a step when I strode outside and into the morning light.
But I did.
Because Rex Gunner was there, just backing out of the backseat of his truck where I knew he had just gotten done strapping his daughter into her booster seat. His care for her was nearly as breathtaking as his presence.
Regretful eyes moved my direction. I thought maybe he didn’t have the power to stop them. Just the same way as I couldn’t stop my own. My gaze drank him in as if he were forbidden fruit. Something—someone—I wanted so desperately I was willing to try to pluck him free from all the thorny barbs and spindly spines that kept him bound.
Thatdestinationperilous.
Hazardous to my health.
Sucking in a stealing breath, I shook off the reaction and forced myself to walk down the steps and to my SUV, barely glancing back when I pulled out of my drive and headed down the road.
But in that barest glimpse I saw him.
I saw his pain. I saw his fear. I saw his regret. And I swore I saw him standing there, held back by that gnarl of branches, wishing I could reach him, too.
But sometimes we have to admit when those obstacles just run too deep.
* * *
Spine stiff and straight, I shifted anxiously in the hard plastic chair. My legs were perfectly pressed together, from my thighs to my knees to my ankles, the portfolio neatly placed on my lap as I waited.
Each second that passed was excruciating, my heart thundering so loud I kept expecting someone to lean my direction and shush me. To tell me to rein in the riot of nerves that stampeded out ahead of me, only to do laps around the small waiting room of the bank.
My gaze darted everywhere, to the tellers, then to the few clerks who were opening and managing accounts in the grouping of cubicle offices that took up the right front side of the bank.
Who would these people be rooting for in this race?
For me?
For my grandmother?
For the vacant, deserted diner that sat only three miles away, begging for someone to take mercy on its desolation?
Scrubbing away the grime would only get me so far.
If I were going to get any farther, I needed money. God knew thatfive dollarsI’d had left to work magic with hadn’t gotten me very far.
A woman appeared at the end of a hall. “Ms. Dayne?”
“Yes?”
She cast me a generous smile. “Mr. Roth will see you now. Right this way.”
Trembling, I stood, fingers shaking as I straightened my skirt. “Thank you.”
I attempted to gather my wits, to put on a brave face, to wear resolve and confidence. I knew I would be riding the fine line of approval since my loan was high risk, and I could only hope my belief in the business would throw it over the edge in my favor.
I followed her down the short hall to where the private loan offices were located. My heels clicked on the tile floor, in tune with the hammer of my heart. It drummed harder and harder with each step.
She gestured with her arm into an office, murmuring, “Good luck,” as she turned to walk back the direction we’d come.
Swallowing hard, I lifted my chin, painting on that firm confidence and forcing myself to wear a smile as I turned the corner of the doorway and stepped into the office.
