Small-Town Billionaire. Renee Andrews

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