by Regina Duke
Bart took a breath and picked up his dessert fork. “Well, in that case...” But no way would he tell them what a farce his big canvases were. He wasn’t to blame if wealthy patrons didn’t know real art from finger painting. Given that handicap, he managed at least to keep his sister and brother entertained.
At long last, Taylor yawned noisily, embarrassing herself. Axel said gently, “I believe that’s the end of the evening.”
Poor Taylor. Motherhood must be exhausting, he thought. The baby was cute though. No doubt about that. He let his mind wander to family matters as he maneuvered the SUV down the narrow paved lane his sister called a road. Her story about the day she got stuck in the mud on her first trip to Axel’s property had left them all in stitches. No wonder she was proud of the blacktop surface. He couldn’t imagine driving down that slope in mud or snow.
Lost in his thoughts, he barely braked in time to avoid colliding with an old pickup truck as it hurtled itself off a gravel drive to his left and blasted its horn as if he were the one driving recklessly.
He could spot the truck’s round taillights intermittently as the vehicle whipped around corners in its haste to get down the mountain. He half expected to find it off the side of the road every time he rounded a corner, but by the time he reached the two-lane, the taillights that had been peering back at him like the eyes of Satan were out of sight.
There was a bit of traffic on this country road, so he paid more attention to his driving. When he pulled into the Cattleman’s parking lot, he could have sworn that the dusty old green pickup with round taillights, empty and waiting under the portico for a valet, was the same one that had nearly run him off the road. If the driver had been behind the wheel, he might have stopped long enough to give him a piece of his mind, but he was in a hurry to get upstairs and check on his new protégée.
* * *
Zinnia finished updating Rose on her afternoon with Bart. “He wants me to show Ashley my work tomorrow morning. He says I have real talent.”
“I already told you that,” said Rose, playing with the TV remote. “Watching you work at craft fairs is amazing, not to mention profitable.”
Zinnia smiled. “Too bad we can’t do that every day. It would sure beat working part-time for other people.”
“And we could have hot pretzels everyday for lunch,” said Rose. “Well, I’m no longer committed to a relationship. Maybe I should go online and see how many craft fairs we can line up.” She was staring at the TV screen, not paying attention to the buttons she was pushing.
Zinnia said, “I wish our food would get here. Are they growing the tomatoes for the sauce?”
“Probably milling the flour for the noodles,” snarked Rose. Suddenly, she screamed and threw the remote across the room.
“What’s wrong?” asked Zinnia, pausing in her detailed mental inventory of the suite’s amenities. Rose was staring, horrified, at the TV. Zinnia followed her gaze and let out a squeak of her own.
“Oh my God! What are they...? All those people are naked!”
“And oily,” muttered Rose.
Zinnia made a face as two of the figures on the screen assumed a position she didn’t know was possible for the human body. She held her hand up to block most of the screen, but found herself peeking through her fingers. “Change the channel.”
“Yeah, right away. What did I do with the remote? No freaking way!” Rose shrieked as a second couple gyrated on the screen. “Gross! Gross! Remote!”
Zinnia spotted it and picked it up off the floor. “It’s in pieces! You shouldn’t have thrown it at the wall! Will I have to pay for it?”
“Turn it off,” said Rose, growing more frantic by the moment.
Zinnia punched the power button repeatedly, but the batteries were hiding in the plush carpet and the remote was useless. “Turn your back,” she ordered. “We don’t want to look at this!” She grabbed her friend and forced her to face the other way.
Rose was panting as if she’d just run a race. “We can’t just let it keep playing. Oh dear, now they’re making noises!”
“Unacceptable,” snapped Zinnia. She dropped to her knees, reached behind the TV stand/bureau combination, and yanked the fat black plug out of the socket.
The silence was sweet as honey. They locked eyes and began to laugh. Gasping for air, Rose cried, “Icky!”
Zinnia squealed, “Eeeewww!” and tossed the remote on the table. “Why would anyone want that on their TV?”
Rose finally caught her breath from laughing and said, “Oh Zin, you’re the most innocent person I know. There are people— mostly guys—who pay extra for those channels. Rats. I must have accidentally hit the pay-per-view button.”
“Oh no! Will it show up on the hotel bill?”
“Don’t worry. We can explain that we made a mistake.” She giggled again.
“How mortifying,” moaned Zinnia.
A loud knock at the door made them both jump. Then a voice called out, “Room service!”
“Thank goodness,” said Zinnia. “I’m about to faint from hunger.”
“Thank goodness you yanked that plug,” said Rose as she headed for the door. “I’m charging this to your room.”
Zinnia nodded, hoping Bart wouldn’t be mad. She could always hand back tomorrow’s cash. Rose directed the delivery man to bring the cart over to the table, then she scribbled something on the bill and handed it to Zinnia. “You need to sign it. Gee, everything smells so good.”
Zinnia nearly choked when she saw the amount of the tip that Rose had written on the paper. But she swallowed her objection and signed her name. Rose and her parents traveled a lot, and they knew all about room service and tipping. Zinnia didn’t want to sound ignorant. She smiled thinly at the server and mumbled, “Thank you.” Not sure what to do next, she followed him back to the door to make sure it got locked again.
She used one hand to push the door shut, but before it could latch, it exploded inward and spun her against the wall with such force that all she could see were stars. She heard Rose scream behind her, “Chester! What are you doing here?!”
CHAPTER TEN
Bart got in the elevator and punched the number for his floor, which happened to be Zinnia’s as well. He would pass her door on the way to his own. He was still trying to shake off the awkward feelings generated at dinner. He wasn’t sure if Ashley was always on edge, or if something special was going on. Or maybe it was him. He’d been away for years, and all that time he’d been improving his artistic skills, other people were also living their lives. His siblings hadn’t been locked away in storage, waiting for him to return and free them from suspended animation.
The elevator doors opened, and he could hear angry voices from down the hall. When he saw that Zinnia’s door was slowly falling shut, he trotted past a confused-looking waiter and burst into the room before the door could click shut.
Zinnia was kneeling against the wall, blood dripping from her nose. A raw-boned man in a plaid shirt was shouting insults at Rose and hefting a fist in the air. The sight of fragile Zinnia staring at her blood-covered hands pushed Bart’s rage button. He charged forward, grabbed the plaid-covered arm, twisted, pulled, and shifted his hip to take the guy down. Chester fell hard and looked stunned.
Bart snapped, “What the heck’s going on?”
Rose put her hands over her face. “Chester shouldn’t be here!”
Chester started to get up off the floor, but Bart took a menacing step toward him and growled, “Don’t move.” To his surprise, the guy flattened. Bart glanced up at Rose. “Is this the guy you were trying to please?”
Rose nodded.
“Well, don’t bother. He isn’t worth it. Did he give Zinnia a bloody nose?” His hands closed into fists.
Zinnia struggled to her feet and answered. “I fell against the wall when he pushed his way in.”
“Close enough,” snarled Bart. He grabbed Chester by one ankle and yanked him toward the door.
Chester yelled,
“Hey! Stop that! I got the message. I can walk out.”
But Bart was having none of it. “Trash deserves to be hauled out,” he snapped, twisting Chester’s leg just enough to elicit a cry of pain. “Step back, Zinnia. Coming through.” He pulled Chester clear into the hallway, dropped him there, then shut the door against his foul-mouthed cursing.
The sudden silence accompanied an eery tableau, Rose still cupping her face and Zinnia still bleeding from hers. Bart moved quickly to fetch a towel for Zinnia.
“But it’ll get all bloody,” she protested.
He pressed the wadded towel gently into her hands. “I’ll buy them a new one,” he said gruffly, gently turning her face to the side and using one end of the towel to dab at the blood under her nose. “Against the wall, you say?”
Zinnia looked pale as she nodded and pointed at the smear of blood on the wallpaper.
Rose began to move, as if coming out of a trance. She approached Zinnia and said, “I thought he went home. I saw his truck head for the two-lane.”
Bart said grimly, “Guess he changed his mind.”
“How did he find me?” With a look of alarm and a squawk of anger, she grabbed her cell phone and a moment later said, “Mom? Did Chester—”
Bart ignored the rest, slipping an arm around Zinnia. “Let’s sit down and make sure nothing’s broken. Is your nose still bleeding?”
Zinnia touched her nose gingerly. “No, I think it stopped.”
He smoothed her hair and let his hands linger on the perfection of her skin. “All that blood on your hands came from that cute little nose?”
Zinnia giggled. “I’m fine,” she said. She wiggled her fingers. “I’ve been roughed up worse than this.” Then she bit her bottom lip and looked away.
Without thinking, Bart pulled her into a soft embrace. “The hell you say?”
Zinnia sank against him and tried to shrug. “Life can suck,” she said sweetly.
Bart smoothed her hair once more and murmured against her ear, “Never again.”
* * *
Zinnia’s thoughts rushed around each other like leaves in a whirlwind. Having Bart’s arms around her was the most comforting feeling she’d ever known. No man had ever stood up for her like that, and seeing Bart drag Chester out of the room like he was a rag doll made her heart pump like mad.
She felt his hands tremble as they settled on her shoulders to shift her to arm’s length for inspection. She tried to smile. “How bad is it?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed as he looked her over. “Red and swollen nose...small bump over right eyebrow...Don’t be surprised if you wake up with a black eye. Here. This will help.” He leaned in and planted a feather weight kiss on her lips. Zinnia gasped in surprise. His lips were so electric, she felt the charge zing through her entire body. Her heart was beating fast again, and she put a fingertip to her nose, hoping it wouldn’t start bleeding again.
Bart smiled. “Did I bump your nose?”
“No, it’s fine,” she said breathlessly. Then, almost against her will, words came out of her mouth. “If I’m working for you, we probably shouldn’t be kissing.”
The expression on Bart’s face was hard to read. He looked sad, then amused, then sorry, all in rapid succession.
“It pains me to admit that you’re probably correct,” he said softly. “However, I think comforting embraces after a trauma are probably okay. I’m pretty sure there’s a line about that in the statute governing treatment of employees.”
Zinnia blushed and wished he would comfort her again. But alas, it was not to be, as Rose ended her call to her mother just then.
“Can you believe it?” she asked stridently holding her phone aloft as evidence. “Mom says he pulled up in front of her house, tires screeching, and demanded to know where I went.”
Zinnia was surrounded by a cold draft as Bart let go of her. He asked, “Did you tell her you were coming here?”
“No! I mean maybe. Maybe yes? I was upset. I don’t recall my exact words.” She shook her head in disgust and plopped down on the blue chair.
Zinnia moved reluctantly away from Bart and sat on the sofa. “I had no idea Chester had such a temper. He was going to hit you, Rose.”
Rose’s checks lost a bit of color. “I know,” she said dismally.
Zinnia’s eyes widened. “Has he done that before?”
Rose looked embarrassed. “Sort of… Let’s just say that him telling me I was forbidden to work outside the home was the last freaking straw.”
Zinnia drew breath as Bart sat down beside her, his thigh touching hers. She tried to focus on Rose, but inside, bells were ringing. Not school bells, she thought, and not the strange bongs like her old school had begun using to mark the change of classes, but beautiful bells, the kind one might hear from a church tower.
Rose was staring at her oddly. “Are you okay? Did you bang your head when you fell?”
“No. Yes. I’m fine,” she lied, sneaking a peek at Bart, who leaned forward, elbows on knees, completely unaware of the music chiming inside her.
Bart said, “I’ve got an idea. Rose, why don’t you stay here with Zin? She’s going to live here while she’s working for me. And having you here would keep me from worrying about her. You have a good head on your shoulders. If Chester makes another appearance, you call the police. And me. Meanwhile, I’ll alert hotel security about the guy. Here, I’ll give you my number.” He took her phone and added his information to her contacts.
Rose seemed hesitant. “Gee, I love the idea, but I can’t afford to pay for half of this suite.”
“I’m paying,” said Bart, “as part of Zin’s salary.”
Rose brightened. “In that case, I’d love to! And I can walk to work from here.”
Bart took Zinnia’s hand. “Is that okay with you?”
Zinnia focused on his fingers pressing against hers and wondered why the idea of having Rose move in filled her with disappointment. But she would never turn Rose away. After all, she’d come to Zinnia’s rescue many times, including opening her home to her the other night. She mustered some enthusiasm. “That’ll be great.”
“Good,” said Bart. He addressed Rose. “And you’ll be making all of Zinnia’s friends relax a bit about having her work for me.”
Zinnia frowned, “What do you mean?”
Bart’s expression softened as he ticked points off his fingers. “Ashley is afraid she’ll lose you as a clerk. My siblings seem to think that I’m some kind of skirt-chasing gigolo. And...” He paused, then finished, “I sort of promised your mother I would look out for you.” His phone pinged, but he ignored it.
Zinnia was touched. “Gee, I didn’t know that many people thought about me at all.”
Bart murmured, “You’d be surprised.”
Rose popped out of her chair. “I hope our dinner’s still warm.” She began lifting lids on the covered platters. “Mmm, it smells yummy.”
Bart patted Zinnia’s knees, ignoring a second ping on his phone. “You two enjoy your evening. I’m going to get a few things ready for tomorrow. Big art demo day at the gallery,” he reminded her.
“Say,” Rose interrupted, “don’t you want my number? Zinnia doesn’t have a cell, so you can call me if you want to reach her.”
“Good idea.” Bart handed over his phone, then asked Zinnia, “Walk me to the door?”
Zinnia bit off the first words that popped into her mind— “it’s right over there” —and dipped her head to hide a smile. She was drawn to him, and she wondered if all damsels in distress felt like magnets were pinning them to the side of their rescuer.
At the door, Bart said softly, “I just wanted to say goodnight.” He glanced in Rose’s direction, then planted a gentle kiss on Zinnia’s nose. “That should make it feel better.”
Before Zinnia could respond, Rose was at her elbow, handing Bart his phone. “All done,” she said crisply.
Bart slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks. Zinnia, I’ll come by for you around
eight-thirty.” And he left.
Zinnia exhaled dreamily. “Did you see how easily he dumped Chester on his keester?”
“Yeah,” said Rose. “Don’t go getting all mushy. Your feelings may be one-sided.”
Zinnia felt a flash of irritation. Was Rose jealous that she might finally have met a man she could actually like?
Rose said wryly, “While I was putting my number on his phone…” She looked away for a moment, the way she always did before telling a fib. “I accidentally—by accident, mind you—saw a text on his screen from some person called Woodsy.”
Zinnia shrugged. “So? He’s a famous artist. He must know hundreds of people.”
Rose nodded glumly. “I’m sure he does. And this particular person was asking him if he’d found someone to play his wife yet.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Before going to his room, Bart stopped by the front desk to alert them to Chester. Then he retired for the evening. Time to respond to emails and text messages. He tried to concentrate on his laptop but couldn’t get the image of Zinnia’s battered face out of his mind. He read one email three times—a city council in Germany wanted him to do a mural for their town hall—and when he realized he couldn’t remember a thing about it after three tries, he slammed the laptop shut in exasperation and pulled out a sketch pad. He needed to draw Zinnia without the bloody nose.
By four a.m., he had a satisfactory sketch. Now he needed a couple of hours sleep before picking her up for the day. He propped his sketch of Zinnia up on the extra pillow, and crawled into bed at four-thirty. His phone pinged before he even got comfortable. Woodsy again? He set the phone to “Do not disturb.” He’d deal with her later. Good grief, it was only 6:30 in New York, and she was already texting? Was she even human?
He dropped the phone in the nightstand drawer, rolled over, and went to sleep.
The jangle of the room phone woke him up. He reached for it in a fog. “Hello?”
Zinnia sounded tense. “It’s already eight-forty-five. I’m walking to the gallery. Just letting you know.” With that, she hung up.
