That’s right. She held up one hand and extended her middle finger. In a hiss of fury, the red sports car roared away.
Shock still coursed through her when she reached her destination. She, a woman who prided herself on her calm, rational behavior, had just flipped off her biggest competitor.
And it had felt good. So deliciously good.
Chuckling, she parked her car. Her amusement faded when she saw the red Mustang parked in front of the Kreager Flea Market. The best place for buying antiques to fix up and resell in her store, Julia’s Treasures.
Irritated all over again, she gathered her purse and stepped into the frigid Santa Fe morning. A strong wind immediately blustered by, making her shiver. She tugged the lapels of her coat tighter and hurried toward the only building in sight.
The Mustang’s owner waited near the metal doors. When he spotted her, he glared, hostility radiating from him.
She came to an abrupt stop and watched him warily. At five-foot-six or -seven, he wasn’t much taller than she. His thin cap of hair gleamed with a thick film of mousse, and a round belly protruded over the elastic waist of his wrinkled pants.
She squared her shoulders. He’s going down. And I’ll be the one to give him the final push. He must have sensed her determination to outmaneuver him, because he placed one foot in front of the other and crouched down ever so slightly. The classic fighting stance.
This meant war.
She stiffened her resolve, refusing to run back to the safety of her car. She stared at him through slitted eyes, not willing to look away or even blink. To do so showed weakness, and the desire to win this battle had already grown to unimaginable proportions. While he was closer to the door, she was a good twenty years younger and a hundred pounds lighter.
He didn’t stand a chance.
Suddenly a click reverberated through the cover of silence. The flea market had just opened.
Jumping into action, Julia pushed and elbowed her way past her competition. She glided through the double doors a split second before he did. Yes! Victory. Smiling with pride, she grabbed a basket and began her treasure hunt.
Antiques. Ah, that one word sent ribbons of delight rushing down her spine. Over the years she’d been called many things. Garage-sale junky. Thrift-store devotee. Auction-house addict. She had accumulated so much stuff she’d had two options: buy an antique store to sell her wares or become buried alive in her collection.
She’d opened Julia’s Treasures the day of her twenty-third birthday. While the little shop hadn’t flourished in the two years since, it had survived when others had failed. It was her pride and joy, a place where she found peace and happiness. Unlike the rest of your life, a hidden corner of her mind supplied.
“Hey,” she said, then pressed her lips together. I’m happy with the rest of my life. So what that she wasn’t a great beauty and she carried a few extra pounds on her short, round body. So what that she had no fashion sense and didn’t know how to attract the attentions of a potential boyfriend. “I’m happy,” she repeated, her tone firm.
As she wandered through the market, her old, ratty sneakers squeaked, drawing the attention of several sellers’ intent on luring her over. Knowing exactly what she wanted—and what she didn’t—she ignored them. She bypassed a table of porcelain dolls and didn’t look twice at the stand laden with Depression glass.
In the back, next to a slightly worn cherry vanity, she spotted an old corncob pipe. She studied the aged wood from every angle, then lifted it to her nose and sniffed. The faint scent of tobacco drifted to her nostrils. She grinned. She already had the perfect customer in mind.
Next she examined a colorful blown-glass carousel, but decided to forgo purchasing such an expensive item when she didn’t have a buyer lined up. The rest of the items on the table received a cursory perusal before one object in particular drew and held her gaze. She moved a bouquet of plastic flowers aside and stared down at what looked to be an old jewelry box.
The sides were chipped, and the outer layer, which at one time had probably been a glossy white, was now a dull yellow-brown. There were several holes where colored glass, or maybe even precious gems, had once resided. Overall an extremely ugly piece, yet something about it called to her.
Biting her lower lip, she ran her fingertips over the surface. The cool exterior sent a shaft of warm, inviting heat up her arm, and she jolted. Tingles raced down her spine, making her shiver. Intrigue intensifying, she attempted to raise the lid, but the stubborn thing refused to budge.
That didn’t dissuade her. She wanted this box. Badly.
A voice with a slight Scottish accent asked, “See something you like, lass?”
Julia glanced up. A man who appeared to be in his early two hundreds with a beaked nose and eyes that drooped low on his cheekbones regarded her expectantly.
Those eyes…they were as fathomless and blue as an ocean, and she would swear they peered into her soul.
Not wanting him to know just how much she desired the item, she schooled her features to show mild curiosity, nothing more. “How much for the jewelry box?”
He smiled, causing the wrinkled—puckered?—skin around his lips to deepen. “Today only, lass, I’ll let you have it for fifty dollars.”
“Fifty dollars?” She forced a laugh. “When the stones are missing and the lid is broken? I’ll give you five.”
He made a choking sound in the back of his throat, and when he spoke again, his burr was
