"Sure." Happy to oblige, she fastened it around her neck. "What do you think? Is it great?" She angled the counter mirror so that she could judge for herself and added, laughing, "If you don't buy it, I might have to snap it up myself."
"It looks awfully pretty on you," he said with a shy, quiet smile that made her want to scoop him up and bundle him into the back room. "She's got dark hair like you. Wears it longer, but the pearls look good with dark hair. I guess I'll have to take it. Along with that box over there, the silver one with all the fancy scrolling."
Still wearing the necklace, Kate scooted out from behind the counter to get the trinket box he'd pointed to. "Two presents." She reached up to undo the necklace clasp. "Your mother must be a very special woman."
"Oh, she's great. She's going to like this box. She sort of collects them. The necklace is for my wife, though," he added. "I'm getting all my Mother's Day shopping done at one time."
"Your wife." Kate forced herself to keep her lips cheerily curved at the corners. "I guarantee she'll love it. But if she or your mother prefers something else, we have a thirty-day exchange and return policy." With what she considered admirable restraint, Kate laid the necklace down. "Now, will that be cash or charge?"
Ten minutes later she watched him saunter out. "The cute ones," she muttered to Laura, "the nice ones, the ones who love their mothers are all married."
"There, there." Laura patted Kate's arm before reaching under the counter to select the proper box. "It looked like a very good sale."
"Puts me at least two hundred up on Margo. And the day's young."
"That's the spirit. But I should warn you, she's got one back in the wardrobe room now, and she's definitely leaning toward Versace."
"Shit," Kate turned to scan the main showroom for prey. "I'm going for the blue-haired lady with the Gucci bag. She's mine."
"Reel her in, tiger."
Kate didn't break for lunch and told herself it was because she wanted to keep up her momentum, not because her stomach was acting up again. She had tremendous success in the second-floor ladies' boudoir and racked up two peignoirs, a stained-glass accent lamp, and a tasseled footstool.
Maybe she did sneak into the back room a couple of times to boot up the computer and check Margo's bookkeeping. But only when her lead was comfortable. She corrected the expected mistakes, rolled her eyes over a few unexpected ones, and tidied up the files.
She was forced to admit, in the end, that accountant's lapse was what cost her the victory. When she came back, smug, already preparing the lecture she intended to deliver to Margo on the cost of careless accounting, her rival was closing a sale.
A whopper.
Kate knew antiques. A child didn't grow up at Templeton House and not learn to recognize and appreciate them. Her heart sank even as dollar signs revolved in her head when she recognized the piece Margo was cooing over.
Louis XVI, Kate recited in her head. A secretaire-a-abattant, probably near 1775. The marquetry panels, typical of that era, included vases and garlands of flowers, musical instruments and drapery.
Oh, it was a stunner, Kate thought, and one of the remaining pieces from Margo's original stock.
"I'm sorry to lose it," Margo was telling the dapper white-haired gentleman who leaned on a gold-headed cane and studied the secretaire and the woman who described it with equal admiration. "I bought it in Paris several years ago."
"You have a wonderful eye. In fact, you have two wonderful eyes."
"Oh, Mr. Stiener, that's so sweet of you." In her shameless style, Margo trailed a finger down his arm. "I do hope you'll think of me, now and again, when you're enjoying this."
"I can promise you I will. Now, as to shipping?"
"Just come over to the counter and I'll take all the necessary information." Margo crossed the room, hips swinging, and shot Kate a triumphant look.
"I think that crushes you for the day, ace," she said when her customer strolled out.
"The day's not over," Kate insisted. "We still have two hours until closing. So until the fat lady sings—which will be you in a few months—don't count your chickens."
"Such a sore loser." Margo clucked her tongue and was ready to pounce when the door jangled. It wasn't a customer, but she pounced anyway. "Josh!"
He caught her, kissed her, then pulled her to a chair. "Off your feet." He kept one hand on her shoulder and turned to glare at Kate. "You're supposed to be keeping an eye on her, making sure she doesn't overdo."
"Don't hang this on me. Besides, Margo doesn't stand when she can sit and doesn't sit when she can lie down. And I made her drink a glass of milk an hour ago."
Josh narrowed his eyes. "A whole glass?"
"What she didn't spit at me." Because it amused and touched her to see her big brother worry and fuss, Kate decided to forgive him. She stepped over and kissed him. "Welcome home."