Sparked (35 page)

“I don’t want his money, Mrs. Briggs. I want his heart.”

Mrs. Briggs stared at her with wide eyes. There was something else in her expression, too. It was the same look Clayton gave her after she had revealed her powers to him—which in him had been a mixture of awe and wonder and appreciation. She doubted the look meant the same on Mrs. Briggs’ face, though Cora didn’t know her well enough to tell.

“Do what you must about my business. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to counter false rumors.”

Cora walked out the door with her head held high.

“Cora, wait,” a voice called behind her. But when she turned to look, it wasn’t Mrs. Briggs calling her, but Violet.

Cora turned on her. “Are you happy with yourself?” 

“Wh—what?” Violet seemed taken aback by Cora’s tone. And frightened, too. She took a step back from Cora and clutched her handbag tighter.

“I know you’ve been interfering with Clayton and I,” Cora said. She could feel the tears pricking the corners of her eyes, but she fought them back. “You couldn’t just let us be happy, could you? Not even for a little while. You had to go and ruin it.”

Violet's lip began to tremble. She bit down, and it was then that Cora noticed a tear trickle down her cheek. The sight annoyed Cora. Even her tears were pretty—like fat raindrops full of golden sunshine.

“He loves you, doesn’t he?” she asked. “He really loves you. And you love him? You actually love him?”

“Yes,” Cora said, exasperated. “Of course I love him.”

The tears fell faster from Violet's eyes then. Cora stared at her, puzzled. She had everything—beauty, friends, a good family. What did she have to cry about? So what if the boy she wanted didn’t love her back? Love wasn’t a thing that could be forced. Real love was so strong you had to fight it off or it would swallow you whole. Trying to force someone to love you was the act of a selfish child.

“He fell in love,” Violet said, choking on her tears. “He wasn’t supposed to fall in love.”

“With me, you mean,” Cora said. “He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with me?”

The Murphy part of her rose up. She felt an instant desire to ruin that pretty face with her fist. But she held back. She breathed in and summoned all the Hollis in her blood.

“Well he did, Violet. We both did.”

There were no tears this time as Cora left the lofty Briggs mansion. There was only determination. The gala was tomorrow night. She’d been hesitating about whether going with Clayton was really the right decision, but now she knew that she must.

Perhaps it was foolish, as Mrs. Briggs had said. The money she’d offered would be enough to get her and Bethany out of Independence Falls and start a new life. But how could she start fresh if she was building upon a betrayal—upon a lie? 

Because she loved Clayton. More than anything. More than her dreams. He had eclipsed everything she once thought her future could be. And even if it was just for tonight—even if he did ultimately choose his trust fund over her—she’d hold on to him as long as she could.

She realized she had made it to the general store without even thinking about it. And she knew exactly what had drawn her there. She needed fabric. The money she’d gotten today could pay for it.

She was going to that gala tomorrow night. She would walk in on his arm with her head held high. Maybe they’d even dance, kiss, make love. God, she hoped she could experience his touch one last time.

Eventually—probably after he dropped her off—his parents would threaten him and he would do what had been inevitable from the moment he’d first crooked his elbow through hers at the Firelight Festival. He would leave her.

But if it was to be their last night together—and she felt more and more certain that it was—she would do it in style.

There was only one option for what she would wear to the ball, only a single dress even close to formal enough: the dress her mother had been married in. It wasn’t a traditional wedding dress. When her parents had married, Butch was already growing inside her mother and everyone knew it. White was out of the question. A traditional wedding was out of the question. Theirs had been a courthouse union with only their fathers in attendance, followed by a honeymoon night in Josephine’s grandparents empty home. It was the same house that Cora stood in now.

She climbed the ladder into the attic and waded through the mess toward the trunk of her mother’s things. After she had died, Cora had watched as her father threw out every single one of her mother’s possessions. She had only been six at the time, but Cora managed to pull some of the items out of the trash and ferret them away to the attic. One of the few items she was able to salvage was the dress.

At more than twenty years old, it was very dated by current trends. It was constructed of dusty blue matte silk cut on the bias to create a fluttery empire-waisted skirt that was too long and too close to the body to be considered fashionable today. Fabric at the bust line was gathered into a ruched v-neckline and fanned out into loose butterfly sleeves. It looked exactly like the decade it had come out of—the early 1930s.

Cora looked at the dress and compared it to the fabric she had purchased at the store. The sapphire chiffon coordinated well with the dusty blue. And if she incorporated it into the original dress the way she had in mind, it could actually be quite stunning. But she had to get to work. It was nearly eight o’clock and she had practically an entire dress to construct in less than twenty-four hours. She might have time to pull it off if she started right away. 

She began by cutting off the sleeves and modifying the neckline to turn the dress strapless. Then she started on the skirt, pinning it even closer to her body until it became a long sheath that went to her mid-calf. It was past midnight by the time she added a swath of the sapphire chiffon and draped it from the neckline to the waistline to the hem as though she were draping it on a Grecian goddess. When she saw the effect, she beamed. The dress was exactly what she had envisioned, incorporating both the old and new fabric into something lovely.

After a quick nap, she started to work on the overskirt. She constructed it almost like she was constructing an apron—a wide skirt that fanned out all the way to the floor, sewn onto a waistband that tied into a soft bow. Only this apron was meant to be worn backwards. It would open just at her hips, revealing the sheath dress underneath, and form a full skirt behind her.

She had to take a break when Butch and Hank came in at eleven the next morning, after a long night of drinking and carousing. She made them lunch, then happily watched them disappear into their bedrooms to sleep off their bender. Instead of seeing to the dishes, she darted back up to the attic to put the finishing touches on her dress.

She made herself stop at six-thirty so she could take a quick shower and do her hair. There wasn’t much she could do with her hair in so little time, so she swept it into a low, full bun at the nape of her neck. Then she used the beet trick to redden her lips and put on her dress.

She felt like Cinderella—only she had become her own fairy godmother. The look wasn’t perfect. She had to borrow basic black ballet flats from Bethany’s closet—thank goodness they were now the same size—and she had no gloves or jewelry to complement the look. But the dress fit well, accentuating her figure and bringing out the color of her eyes. She felt beautiful—the most beautiful she had ever felt in her life. She couldn’t wait to see Clayton.

She scurried downstairs—it was nearly seven now and she’d have to race in order to meet Clayton in time—but was stopped short at the entrance to the kitchen. Butch was awake, and sitting in the kitchen with Ralph. 

Cora tried to turn around and run back upstairs, but she didn’t get away fast enough. 

There was a wolf-whistle, followed by Ralph’s lust-laden voice, “That’s a damn fine sister you got there, Butch.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Butch drawled from the doorway.

Cora turned around, cursing herself for having not anticipated running into Butch. She tried to barrel past him. “I’m sorry. I’m running late,” she said.

“You ain’t going anywhere dressed like that,” Butch said.

“I’ll take her somewhere and deal with that dress,” Ralph said with a leer.

“You’re meeting him, aren’t you?” Butch asked. “I thought I told you not to speak to him again.”

Cora said the first lie that popped into her mind.

“I’m not meeting anyone. I got a job at McPherson’s Supper Club for the night.”

“Doing what? Cause I’ve never seen a waitress dressed like that.” 

“I’m trying out to be a cigarette girl.”

“You ain’t pretty enough to be a cigarette girl,” Butch said. 

“Don’t they have special outfits?” Ralph asked. “You know, those sexy numbers with the short skirts and fishnets?”

“Not until you get the job. You have to wear your own dress for tryouts.” Cora had no idea if that was true, but it was the best explanation she could come up with.

“Ralph’s right. That’s a whore’s job,” Butch said. “Go upstairs and take that stupid dress off. I’m hungry.”

“Come on, Butch. It’s good money. Just let me go and I’ll split the tips with you.”

“How much are we talking?”

“I don’t know. Maybe five dollars.”

“For one night?” Ralph asked. “Jeez-Louise. Even I’d tart myself up to make five dollars in one night.” 

“Fine,” Butch said. “But I make your first three dollars, no matter what. Then spilt it after that.”

Cora knew he wouldn’t believe her if she didn’t put up a fight. “Come on, Butch. That’s not fair. You’re not the one doing all the work. How about my first dollar and a half? Then we’ll split whatever’s left. Sixty for me and forty for you.”

“The way I see it, you’re not gonna make anything if I lock you in your bedroom all night.”

“And neither will you.”

“Your first two dollars. Then fifty-fifty.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” 

Cora stalked toward the door, but Ralph caught her arm as she passed. He licked his lips as he gazed at her cleavage. 

“You want a ride up to the supper club? Just finished the car I’ve been working on. It’s real nice. You’d like it.”

Cora pulled her arm away. “No, thank you.”

“Come on. It’s just a little ride. And you said you were running late, didn’t you?”

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to walk past him, but he blocked her way—putting his arm on the door jamb.

“I’d show you a good time, Cora. If you were my girl, I’d show you a real good time.”

“I’m not your girl, Ralph, and I never will be.”

Cora ducked under his arm and sprinted out the door.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Clayton

Clayton was waiting by the bridge that led over the river. Meeting here was his last concession to her about hiding their relationship. After tonight, everything would be different. He’d already made all the arrangements, liquidating a number of his assets to prepare for every possibility, just in case. His boat had gone fast once he’d listed it for sale. The new owner was coming to pick it up next week. And he had several buyers interested in the car. When he thought about a life with Cora at his side, they were easy sacrifices.

His first sight of Cora was the top of her head as she came up over the rise. Her rich hair was drawn back so her deep blue eyes and luscious lips took center stage. Eagerly, he started to lope toward her, then came to stop as the sleek dress came into view. The neckline was demure, but the silky fabric clung to her body and made him burn with the knowledge of what lay beneath the elegant gown. A fan of gauzy blue material swished behind her back, making her look like she was floating on the breeze. He had never seen anyone more beautiful. 

He pulled her close, bending his forehead to meet hers.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said.

“Hi,” she said shyly, averting her eyes. Could she possibly have any doubt how lovely she looked tonight? It seemed unthinkable.

He took her hand and twirled her around. 

She laughed, and her face lit up.

God, that smile. That laugh. He couldn’t wait to walk into the gala with her on his arm.

“Cora Murphy, you may be the death of me in that dress.” He was glad he’d thought to bring the necklace. He pulled it out of his pocket. “I kept it for you, like you asked. Will you wear it tonight?”

She smiled up at him, and with no hesitation said, “Yes. I’d love to.”

His heart leapt as he fastened it around her neck. She wasn’t fighting it. She was accepting his gift. Could she have any idea what that meant to him?

“Come on. I don’t want to miss a single dance with you tonight.”

“Wait,” she said, clasping her hands. 

They were trembling, and Clayton took them in both of his. They were cold, delicate, and so small it seemed impossible. He rubbed them to warm her. Then he brought them to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

“You can still change your mind,” she said. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“No,” he said. “It’s long past time I introduced you to them properly.”

Cora’s brow furrowed, and Clayton had that old sense that she was a moment away from fleeing—a mare spooked by a rattlesnake.

“Just promise that no matter what your family says tonight—even if it makes you change your mind about me—”

“I won’t,” he said.

“Just promise me you’ll say goodbye, okay? And that we won’t hate each other? I want to cherish every moment we’ve had together.”

He hated it when she talked like this. If Clayton was a weaker man, he would doubt Cora’s feelings for him. But he knew Cora—understood both her selflessness and her self-doubt. If he had to, he’d spend the rest of his life making sure she never had reason to doubt herself—or his love for her—ever again. 

“I want to cherish our time together too,” he said.

“No matter how long we get to share it?” she asked.

The ring felt alive in his pocket. He almost pulled it out right there. Almost knelt before her and slipped it on her finger. God, he couldn’t wait to see it there. But he had plans for how he wanted to do it. And he wasn’t about to ruin them.