Forever Wild (Book 1 in the Forever His Series)

Chapter 8

1850

Late November

  "You can't be serious!" Emily's hands slam onto the bank clergy's desk, the name plaque inscribed with 'M. Pressive' shifts a few centimeters closer to the edge. Neither party pay it much mind.

  Montgomery Pressive, senior accountant at Bodie, California's single one-story, two-roomed bank, leans forward in his chair, frown partially hidden by his pride and joy, yet ridiculous, do of a mustache. He's been in this business long enough to know how best to handle upset customers.

  "Mrs. Rosewater, please take a seat. Though I understand your frustration, I must remind you such behavior is not tolerated here."

  Reluctantly, and a bit shamefully, Emily sits, half her mind on ripping apart the foreclosure document, which is safely out of reach behind Mr. Pressive and his impressive bulk on a small table against the back wall.

  Mr. Pressive takes a moment to wipe a handkerchief across his dry face and sigh as if he just avoided a great disaster. Emily's attention shifts to the handkerchief. How easily will that rip if she were to snatch it and cut it up using his letter opener? Following her line of sight, and more or less sensing her line of thinking, Mr. Pressive not-so-subtly places both objects in his desk, locks the drawer, then stuffs his key ring into his back trouser pocket and coughs to cover the awkward silence.

  Emily lets a small, quick smirk slip across her face as she leans back into the wooden armchair, the wood creaking under her weight.

  "As I was saying, your payments are four months past due. You can see here," he slides a folder over to her and pulls out a sheet of paper with monthly dates and next to each the bold words: overdue. "The bank has not received a single payment-"

  "But that's absurd! My husband kept detailed records of every deposit he made on the store. How is this even possible?" Emily knows exactly where those documents are kept and feels determined to see the wrong done her righted. Though the rage in her at the bank's stupidity will take more persuading to subside. When Mr. Pressive opens his mouth to speak, she stands and calmly says, "Mr. Pressive, I know without a doubt my husband made those payments and I have the documentation at home to prove it. I am not. losing. the mercantile." It was the only thing she had left of Collin. It had been his dream to run a store where there would always be something that someone needed; in that sense, helping anyone who needed it. She wasn't going to let it fall apart, especially, because their house was used as collateral for the loan they took out. Jobless and homeless. Like hell will she ever go back to that.

  "You have 24 hours before the notice of eviction will be processed and approved." He calls after her retreating form, listening as the sound of her heels fades away. Replacing the letter opener on his desk, Montgomery Pressive leans back as far as his girth allows in his cushioned chair and mops his now sweaty temple. Well, that was certainly a disaster avoided.

  His dark eyes flicker to a small and simple painting on the far wall that depicts a boat at sea—his lifelong dream. A dream that will very soon become reality if his associate holds up his end of their recently made bargain. A chance of a lifetime. A sudden pain in his chest reminds him of how little time he had left. His only chance.

  Emily marches down the walkway on Main Street, a bull ready to rage. When she arrives at the mercantile, she crams the key into the lock, twists, and swings the door wide open.

  An empty silence greets her. She hurries to the storeroom and pulls out the bottom right drawer. She'll show that pompous jerk! Using her fingers, she flicks through file after file, stops, then goes back through them again, slowly this time. Where is it? Heart drumming in her chest, Emily pulls every file out of every drawer and drops them at her feet until a small pile forms.