Hometown Princess

Rick took in that bit of information. He had connections down at the bank, but Cari would be insulted if he offered his help. Still, he wanted to help. “Good luck,” he said, his mind spinning as he watched her head back inside.

Then his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Rick, how you doing?”

“Jolena, what’s up?”

“I need to talk to you. About a mutual friend.”

“Oh, yeah, and who’s that?”

“Cari Duncan,” Jolena replied. “I’ve got a plan but I need your help.”

“Name it,” Rick said, wondering what Jolena had up her sleeve. And wondering why her timing always seemed to be just right.

When he heard her idea, he had to smile. This just might work and if it did, Cari would have to go along with it. She’d be crazy not to.

Chapter Four

Cari sat down with the bank officer, her palms sweaty, her breath held. Feeling the cool bump of the old leather chair against her legs, she waited for her fate, a sensation of ultimate doom sifting in her stomach. “So, Mr. Phillips, what’s the verdict?”

The older gray-haired man stared through his bifocals at her, his stern expression and apologetic discomfort shouting out the answer she already knew. Clearing his throat, he glanced down at the papers in front of him. “Well, young lady, you seem to have a long history here. Lots of credit problems.” He put the papers down and leaned back in his squeaky chair, the tuffs of peppered hair on the top of his head looking like twisted fence wire.

“Carinna, I have to be honest with you. It doesn’t look good. Especially in this economy. Any kind of business loan is risky these days, but this…well…the boutique idea is a good one and it worked for you in Atlanta, but while we always want to help new businesses here in Knotwood Mountain, financing a major renovation of that old house, well, that’s just not something we’re ready to do, I’m afraid.”

“But you’ve seen my business plan,” she said, ready to fight for herself. “It’s solid, based on my success in Atlanta. I’ve paid off most of my credit card debt and I even have some start-up money saved. I know it’s not much, but I’m willing to do a lot of the work myself to save money.”

“What about your projections? We need to be sure you can make your monthly payments.”

“My cash flow projections are low, but I did a conservative estimate on that. I fully expect business to pick up once I get some advertising out there. I’ll find a way to pay back the loan.” She hoped.

“All good points, but you don’t have anything for collateral. Or anyone willing to cosign on this.”

Cari didn’t like his condescending tone or the implication that she didn’t have another soul willing to take a risk on her. “I have the house sitting on a prime corner lot on First Street. That should be collateral enough.”

“Not in this day and time,” he replied, his ink pen thumping against his desk pad. “But you could probably sell it for a tidy sum and start over in some other location within the town. Your stepmother could help you there, I’m sure.”

Cari sat still, refusing to have a meltdown in front of this grumpy old man. She’d done her homework, learned all about small business loans, talked to her financial advisor about the risks. She’d even joined the Small Business Association and found lots of online tips. And there was the slight possibility of getting grant money if she registered the house as a historical landmark.

All of that aside, it seemed this man was going to be her biggest obstacle, because he controlled the purse strings. But, she reminded herself, he was just doing his job. “I understand, Mr. Phillips. And I was shocked at the amount the contractor quoted me on the renovations, too. What if I did a little bit at a time? I don’t have to do everything he’s suggesting. I can just get the bottom floor updated and in working order so I can open my boutique. If I have it up and running before the Fourth, I know I’ll clear enough to make the monthly loan payments as the year goes by. Christmas is always a good season here, too, with the winter tourists.”

“You can’t predict that,” he replied, taking off his glasses. “Look, I knew your father. He was a solid businessman—knew a good piece of real estate when he saw it. Maybe he left you Duncan House so you could sell the whole thing and turn a nice profit. It’s in an ideal location for a new business.”

“Just not the new business I’m proposing,” Cari replied, disappointment coloring her words.

“I’m afraid so. I can’t lend you money on your name alone, although the bank did take that into consideration.”

“But my good name just isn’t enough, is it?” she asked, her finger hitting the report in front of him. “I got myself into a financial mess. But I worked hard over the last couple of years to straighten things out. My business plan worked in Atlanta. I just let my personal finances get out of control.”

“It takes longer than a couple of years to clear up bad credit and you know it,” he retorted. “I do admire your fortitude, however.”

Cari stood, her fingers grasping the strap of her bag. “And I admire your complete and unwavering honesty. But I’m not going to give up on this. I came to you first because this is where my father did his banking. I’ll just try somewhere else.”

“You’ll have a tough row to hoe, Carinna. I wish you luck.”

Cari turned to leave, dignity and the Duncan name making her spine straight. Too bad she hadn’t considered coming to the bank before moving into the old house. But she wanted to live there, remodel or no remodel. She’d find a way to make this work, if she had to redo the house in square yard increments. And if she had to find a job somewhere else until she could get the boutique going.

She was on her way out the double doors when they swooshed open, the morning heat and sunshine warring with the sterile air-conditioning and doom and gloom of the annoying bank. Cari looked up and found herself blocked by Jolena and—

“Hi, Rick, what are you doing here?”

“He’s with me,” Jolena said, lifting a thumb toward Rick. “I mean, we’re together—here to see you.” She looked past Cari to Mr. Phillip’s office. “Let’s go back in and talk to the man, honey.”

“What?” Cari tried to protest, but Rick’s strong hand on her elbow stopped her. When he guided her back toward the big office, she asked, “What’s going on?”

“We have a plan,” Rick said, not bothering to slow down. “Just be quiet and listen.”

Not sure she liked being ordered around, even if he did look yummy and forceful in his white shirt and crisp jeans, Cari glanced from Jolena to Rick. “Jo, what’s about to happen?”

“You getting your loan approved,” Jolena replied, her dark eyes wide with intrigue and triumph. “Let Rick do the talking, okay?”

Cari didn’t have much choice. Rick was already shaking hands with Mr. Phillips. What were they going to do, hold a gun on the man and demand he give her some money? Not a half-bad idea, although that would look like bank robbery to all the other customers.

“This is…highly unusual,” Mr. Phillips said, his expression bordering on perturbed. “Rick, care to explain this unexpected visit?”

Rick directed Cari to a chair and gently pushed her down. “Yes, sir. Mrs. Beasley and I are here as concerned citizens of Knotwood Mountain. Since we’re both business owners on First Street and since Miss Duncan wants to renovate Duncan House and move her already successful business here, and since she is the daughter of one of the town’s most prominent citizens—now deceased—we’re here to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Both Cari and Mr. Phillips asked the same question. “Which is?”

Jolena grinned and nodded toward Rick. “Tell him, Rick. Go ahead.”

Rick pressed his hands onto the big desk, his knuckles splayed across the unfortunate report regarding Cari’s finances. “We want to cosign a loan for Cari Duncan.”

“What?” Cari gasped, shaking her head.

“Impossible,” Mr. Phillips retorted.

“Not so quick,” Rick said, finally sitting down to talk business. “Think about this. Jolena and I both have a vested interest in the upkeep of First Street, and let’s face it, Duncan House had been an eyesore for years now. While we appreciate that Cari’s father was ill for many of those years and that his wife, Doreen, did her best to run his real estate company, we couldn’t help but notice the second Mrs. Duncan tended to neglect Duncan House.”

He gave Cari an encouraging look. “It’s been vacant for over a year now and, well, it just doesn’t sit well with us that the house has become so unappealing and run-down.” He sat up, his tone going from conversational to serious. “It doesn’t sit well with the chamber of commerce or the city council either. And I’m sure it doesn’t impress the locals and the tourists, not at all. I get complaints on a daily basis.”

Mr. Phillips lifted a hand. “But—”

Rick went right on talking. “I’ve thought of buying the place myself, but you know I have my hands full with the general store. And Jolena has a good thing going with the diner, but her customers have to stare at that boarded-up old house all the time. And that’s a shame.”

“A real crying shame,” Jolena added, her chin bobbing.

“Why, just the other day, Mrs. Meadows asked me what we intended to do about that old house. And when I told her none other than little Cari Duncan herself, the daughter of James Duncan, was coming back to fix up the place, well, I can’t tell you how excited Mrs. Meadows was. She even said she’d get the Garden Club in on helping with the landscaping. Something about getting the place on the National Historic Registry, too. And you know she’s one of those Daughters of the Revolution—those women can sure stir up a stink when they want something done. And Mrs. Meadows really wants something done about Duncan House. But only if she knows someone is willing to invest in the renovations. And do them up proper, of course.”