Under Starry Skies by Judy Ann Davis Page A

“Don’t be a silly, silly fool, my dear girl! You’ll not get a penny from the bank in this town. They’re a tight-fisted lot who would sell their mother’s souls before they would loosen their grip on a handful of cash.”
    Abigail heaved a weary sigh. “I’ll have to try, nonetheless.” She rose, walking stiffly toward the door. “Should I succeed, Aunt Em, I’ll be forced to deduct half the amount of the loan from your share of the profits. It’s only fair.”
    “Fair?” Emma spit back at her. “You’ll shortly learn what’s fair and what’s not fair in this town, once you visit the bank!”
    Later in the afternoon, seated in the plush office of Golden’s National Bank, Abigail forced herself to smile at the paunchy, balding bank president, Patrick Marsh, before coming directly to the point.
    “I need a loan,” she admitted, “to cover a few expenses at the Mule Shed. Paint. Draperies. Things for renovation.”
    March leaned back in his chair, crossing his fleshy hands on his protruding stomach. “Collateral?” he asked.
    Abigail shook her head. “None, except for a few cases of Canadian whiskey and some French wine. My aunt still owns the inn. I’ve agreed to manage it and divide the profits with her. Eventually, I hope to buy her out.”
    “Sorry, that won’t do, Miss O’Donnell.”
    Abigail straightened and raised an eyebrow. “Your bank doesn’t believe in speculating?”
    “On the contrary. We take risks and chances all the time. You must understand, you are new to our area. We would need someone to attest to your character.”
    “My late uncle’s reputation is not enough?”
    The banker blushed. “Yes, yes of course. You misunderstand me. Your uncle was an honest man, but I fear your aunt’s reputation is—” He cleared his throat nervously. “Well, suffice it to say, a little questionable. Emma has been known to run up outrageous bills about town.”
    With as much dignity as she could muster, Abigail rose. “I see. Thank you for your time.” Weak-kneed she carried herself to the door, halting on the sidewalk to catch her breath and steady the heaviness she felt in her chest. Her disappointment settled in her stomach like a painful knot. She was helpless to halt her embarrassment. Tears began to form, and she wiped them away quickly with the back of her hand.
    A voice called out to her.
    She looked up to see Brett sauntering up, a crooked grin on his face. “Lovely day, Miss O’Donnell.” He stopped and gave her a thoughtful stare. “But the look on your face tells me we might be in for some rain.”
    Abigail sighed a disheartened sigh and swiped at her cheek again. Of all the people she had to run into, Brett Trumble was the last person she hoped to see. It was humiliating to have to admit she had been rejected for a loan by the local bank. “It seems Golden’s bank doesn’t back people willing to give a good day’s work to make an honest living. Holding up a flatboat with goods is beginning to appear like a sound idea to raise some cash.”
    Brett winced. “You are not going to let go of our misfortunate encounter, are you?” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “You know, there are secrets to loosening the grip on those stiff-necked old weasels inside.”
    “I’ll not have a thief telling me how to swindle a banker.” She sniffed and dug into her reticule, but before she could withdraw a handkerchief, Brett shoved his into her hands and pulled her close to him to shield her from the curiosity of people passing by.
    “Ah, but you see, thieves and weasels understand each other, Miss O’Donnell,” he whispered near her ear.
    She felt the warmth of his body as he shielded her from onlookers, and she wanted to hide there forever. He waited until she composed herself and dried her eyes, then gently turned her by her shoulders and nudged her toward the door of the bank.
    “I’m not going back in there,” she murmured, shaking her head, digging in her