It was midafternoon before Roman pulled into his garage. His mail was on the kitchen counter, opened and neatly stacked in chronological order, sticky notes on the more important items that needed his personal attention. She’d balanced his accounts and left a computer report of his income and expenses, everything neatly logged in categories. His tax accountant was going to love her.
On his way to his bedroom, he saw the guest room. He took a step back. Grace had chosen a mahogany sleigh bed, nightstands with lamps, and a high dresser. She hadn’t stopped with bedroom furniture, but added a comfortable chair, reading lamp, and Persian-style rug. Roman dumped his duffel bag in the hall and went in to look around. Blues, greens, touches of red and yellow, but no pastels. The room was masculine without being macho. She’d hung two sets of blue towels in the bathroom. On the counter were three clear glass canisters, one filled with seashells, another with colorful river rocks, and the smallest with wrapped soaps.
He’d left his own bedroom in all its glory: bed unmade, towels and clothes on the floor, closet doors open. Embarrassed at the contrast with the immaculate guest room, Roman stripped his bed. He gathered the dirty towels and headed for the laundry room. Maybe it was a good time to go over to the cottage, tell her he was back and she’d done a good job on the guest room. He knocked on her front door. No answer. He tried again, listening. No footsteps. No radio playing. She didn’t own a television.
She’d gone out. Why should that surprise him?
He went back to the big house and killed time watching a basketball game and making sketches in the black book he kept under the couch. He went over again as the sun was going down. Still no answer.
It’s Saturday, stupid. It’s her day off. Why shouldn’t she be off someplace having fun? She probably has a boyfriend.
That thought unsettled him. He didn’t want to think about why.
He put the sheets and towels in the dryer and went into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. Later, while making his bed, he thought about Masterson Ranch and the bachelor arts Susan had taught him. Oddly enough, he’d liked the routine, the order, set meals at set times, the rules for how to treat one another.
When and why had he turned into a slob?
The TV blared as one of the teams won—he didn’t know which and didn’t care. He picked up the remote and shut it off. He went up to his studio and noticed the cottage lights were on. Grace was home.
The solar lights had come on along the path between the big house and cottage. He knocked rather than ringing the bell. Was that a baby crying? The door opened, and Grace’s expression was anything but welcoming. She held a red-faced, crying baby in her arms. Roman grimaced. “He doesn’t look happy.” Neither did she.
“He’s had a big day. Sometimes when he’s overstimulated, he gets fussy.”
Roman guessed she’d babysat enough times to know.
When Grace left the door open as she walked away, he took it as an invitation to enter. “I came over to tell you the guest room looks great.” He closed the door behind him.
She smiled at him. “Thank you.” The baby seemed calmer, leaning his head on her chest and peering at him as Grace swayed her body, rocking him gently. He had thick, dark hair, café au lait skin, and dark-brown eyes.
Her place felt like an oasis. A Bible lay open on the kitchen table, along with a journal. Curious, Roman wanted to pick it up and read what she’d written. Not a good idea. “You have him again.” Shanice probably stuck Grace with her kid as often as possible so she could go off somewhere and party.
Grace rubbed the baby’s back. “I have him every chance I get.”
“I don’t think he wants a nap.”
“Unfortunately, he already had a long nap on the way home from the beach.”
Grace laid the baby in the middle of a plush, ribbon-edged blanket on the carpeted floor. “All right, little man.” She handed Samuel a rattle. He shook it several times and hurled it. Grace stretched to retrieve it, exposing smooth white skin at the waistband of her jeans. Samuel rolled over and pushed himself up.
Roman chuckled. “Looks like he’d rather do push-ups.”
Still on her knees, she looked up at Roman. “I’m glad you like the guest room.”
She wasn’t rushing him out the door. He smiled slightly. “The canisters of seashells and rocks were a bit much.”
“I have the receipts. I can return them.”
“I was kidding. I might let you redo my bedroom.”
“Oh, no. Nice try, but I’m not cleaning up your mess.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I stripped my bed and washed the sheets. I’ve been doing laundry since I got back.”
Baby Samuel let out a distinct noise, drawing their attention. When the baby’s face turned dark red, Roman laughed. “I think you’re going to be doing laundry, too.”
Grace sighed. “It’s the formula. Thankfully, he’s wearing disposable diapers.”
“I thought you were a recycling activist.”
“Within reason.” Grace got up and went into the bedroom. Roman watched Samuel push his knees under his chest. The baby rocked back and forth and toppled face-first. Pushing himself up again, he let out a ferocious scream. Grace appeared, hands full of diaper-changing supplies.
Roman raised his hands. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Then don’t look so guilty.” Kneeling, she turned Samuel over. “He can sit up. Now he wants to crawl.” In less than two minutes, she had the soiled diaper removed, the baby’s bottom clean and fitted with a new one. Leaning down, she blew on his belly. Samuel grabbed her hair and let out a baby giggle. Turning him over again, Grace patted Samuel’s freshly diapered bottom. He pushed himself up again and looked at Roman. Grace smiled. “He wonders who the strange man is.”
Roman sat in the swivel rocker and leaned forward. “I’m her boss, kid.”
“He’s not a goat. He’s a child, and his name is Samuel.”
“Hey, Sammy . . .”
“I’d rather you called him Samuel.”
Her tone offered no compromise, and the look on her face made him wonder why such a little thing mattered. “What does Shanice call him?”
Grace looked confused. “She calls him ‘little man.’ That’s his nickname, not Sammy.” Her phone rang, distracting her. She rose quickly and went to the kitchen table. Roman could tell by her tone it wasn’t one of her girlfriends. “He’s tired, but fine. I had him slathered with sunblock.” Her tone had noticeably warmed. Why should that annoy him?
When Grace glanced at him, Roman stood. Time to go. Leaning down, he patted Samuel’s behind. “Have fun, buddy.” She asked the caller to wait a moment, no doubt wanting more privacy than she had right now. Roman didn’t give her a chance to say anything. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Back at the main house, Roman decided to toss his self-imposed celibacy to the wind and spend the rest of the evening at a club.
GRACE DIDN’T KNOW what was bothering Roman. He’d been different since his short trip to San Diego. He should be excited about the gallery show in Laguna Beach. Instead, he’d become quiet and introspective. He stayed in his studio sketching, but wasn’t making headway. She heard him swearing more than once, and the last time she’d entered his domain, wads of paper had lain helter-skelter around him. When she started picking them up, he told her to leave them.
The doorbell rang, a simple ding-dong rather than the melodious chimes that had irritated Roman. Grace hurried from the office, but slowed when she heard heavy metal music coming from Roman’s exercise room. He was running on his treadmill again. She expected to find Talia at the front door, eager to go over last-minute details for Roman’s show at the Laguna Beach gallery that evening. The poor woman had been as nervous as a backpacker facing a grizzly the last time she talked with Roman. The invitations had gone out, and responses flooded in. Talia would be serving champagne and canapés. Roman said he didn’t care if she handed out beer and pretzels. Talia had asked Grace what wa
s eating him, but Grace had to admit she had no idea.
It wasn’t Talia ringing the bell, but a tall man with short white hair and intelligent hazel eyes. He had a suitcase in his hand and a look of surprise. “Well, hello.” He extended his hand. “I’m Jasper Hawley, and you are . . . ?”
“Grace Moore, Roman’s personal assistant.” The older gentleman had a firm handshake and an easy smile. “Come in. Please.” She stepped back. This must be the man who wanted a bed in the guest room.
“By the look on your face, Roman forgot to tell you I was coming for a visit.” He laughed low. “He also forgot to tell me about you.”
“He has a lot on his mind.”
“I’m sure that’s not the reason.” Jasper stopped in the living room. “Do I have a bed this time, or shall I get my sleeping bag and pillow out of my car?” She showed him down the hall to the guest room. “Holy cow! Look at this place! This is better than a suite in a high-class hotel.” He put his suitcase on the end of the king-size bed. “I think I’ll move in.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Roman stood in the doorway, toweling perspiration from his face. He looked like a professional athlete in his running shorts and wet T-shirt. Grace wished he had more clothes on—preferably, a sweatsuit that covered him completely. Roman’s gaze shifted to her. Her heart did an alarming flip.
Jasper looked around. “Bare walls? I thought you’d have every square inch painted by now.”
Grace found that a curious statement.
“I do enough painting on canvas these days, Hawley.”
Jasper ignored him and looked at Grace. “I’ll bet he’s never told you about his graffiti work.”
Grace looked at Roman. “Oh. Is that what you meant about tagging?”
Jasper raised his brows slightly and started to say something, but Roman gave him a quelling look. “Are you here to make trouble?”
Grace turned to go. She wanted to leave them alone to sort out whatever problem seemed to have reared its ugly head.
Roman put his hand on the doorframe, effectively blocking Grace’s exit. “Have you heard from Talia?” He was close enough for her to breathe in the scent of healthy male sweat.
“Not yet, but she said she’d probably come by this morning.”
He said a word she hadn’t heard since the first day she came to work for him. “I wish I’d never gotten myself into this thing.” He lowered his arm to let her pass.
Grace overheard Jasper as she headed down the hall. “How is it you never mentioned Grace?”
“She’s my personal assistant.”
His dismissive tone hurt. What did it matter? She’d known what sort of guy he was the minute she saw him. She was putting on a pot of fresh coffee when Jasper came out of the guest room and joined her in the kitchen.
“Roman will be out in a few minutes.” He sat on a barstool as she filled the carafe. “How long have you been working for him?”
“Four and a half months.” She gave him a wry smile. “Sometimes it feels longer.”
He chuckled. “I don’t doubt that. He’s a hard nut to crack.” She wanted to ask why that was, but doubted Jasper Hawley had any answers. And if he did, why would he share them with her? He studied her. “You’re not going to ask any questions about him, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“He must like you if you’ve been here almost five months. So, tell me about yourself, Grace.”
“Not much to tell. Roman hired me from a temp agency, then made it full-time. I answer correspondence, field phone calls, pay bills, run errands.” She shrugged. “I’m here to make Roman’s life easier.”
She looked toward the wall of glass. “It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to sit on the patio, Mr. Hawley?” Roman might object, but Jasper Hawley was the guest, and what he wanted took precedence.
“Call me Jasper, please, and the patio would be perfect.” When they were both settled with fresh coffee, he studied her over the mug of steaming brew. “It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” He nodded toward the canyon. “Makes you wonder why he never paints it.”
“I’ve wondered the same thing.”
“The boy is complex.”
The boy. Like Talia, Jasper said it with tolerance and affection. She gave a soft laugh. “I wouldn’t call him a boy.”
“Depends on your definition. And he’s been called a lot of names by a lot of people.”
Having fielded calls over the last few months, Grace knew that only too well. The most recent woman had a few choice things to say about him, none Grace wanted to hear. “You’re the only guest Roman has had here since I started working for him. Other than Talia Reisner, who only drops by.”
“She would be the gallery owner where the party is being held tonight.”
“Yes. She’s very nice. And interesting. She thinks Roman has great potential.”
“And you?”
She didn’t know what was behind his question. Thankfully, the sliding-glass door opened and interrupted their conversation. Roman came out, wearing jeans and a red T-shirt, hair still wet from the shower. He took a seat and looked between the two of them.
Jasper’s smile was half-teasing. “You appear to be in tip-top shape, Roman.”
“Just trying not to get old and flabby like you.”
“Still running? Or can I hope you’re training for the real marathon?”
Grace sensed undercurrents in the conversation. She started to get up. “I’d better get back to work.”
Roman gave her a quick glance. “Sit.” It wasn’t an invitation, and she didn’t care for being addressed like a dog on a leash.
“Grace was just telling me you met her through a temp agency.”
“What did you think? I picked her up in a club?”
Grace’s face filled with heat.
Jasper looked surprised, then annoyed.
Wanting to escape, Grace rose again, determined this time. Roman didn’t say anything as she headed for the house. She sat, elbows on her desk, face in her hands. It was a few minutes before her cheeks felt cool again. Was it the show that had him so tense? Was he worried people wouldn’t like his art?
She busied herself with Roman’s correspondence and answered several telephone calls. The doorbell rang at one. Talia swept in, her mass of curly hair tied up with a colorful scarf.
“Where is he? Most artists drive me crazy wanting to know every detail of what’s being done for their show, and Roman couldn’t care less!” She waved her hands in the air and spotted him on the patio. She marched through the sliding-glass doors and went outside to join the two men.
Safely back in the office, Grace breathed more easily. She finished her work and called Selah to check on Samuel. “He’s playing on the rug. He’s crawling.”
Grace had known the milestone was coming and hoped she’d be the one to witness it.
“He wanted his bunny. He learns quickly. He was so pleased with himself.” Selah would have gone on, but Grace said she needed to work and ended the call. The hurt sank deep. Would Selah be the one to hear Samuel’s first word and see his first steps? If she had a choice, would she rather Selah be the one to see these things or a day care worker?
Talia peered in. “Everything all right?”
Startled, Grace glanced up. “Yes. Fine.”
“You looked so serious.”
“How was he?”
“Grim. The show isn’t the only thing on his mind. Well, I’m off and running. See you this evening.” She ducked out and then came back in again. “What do you know about the divine Jasper Hawley?”
“Not much.”
“I’d like to know that gentleman better.” She waggled her brows. Grace laughed and wished her luck.
The two men came inside and talked in the living room. Grace thought she’d go out and clear the patio table, but the tray with coffee mugs was on the kitchen counter. Jasper looked happy to see her. “Roman said you went to UCLA.”
“I didn’t graduate.”
“But you were studying clinical psychology? Do you have plans to finish your degree?”
“I’m chipping away at it. One online class at a time.”
Roman wore an odd expression. “I don’t know why you bother. I pay you more than you’ll ever make as a social worker, which is all you’ll be qualified to do with a bachelor’s in clinical psychology.” He gave Jasper a glance. “She’d need a PhD for anything better, wouldn’t she?” He raised his brows at her. “How old would you be by that time, Grace?”
She was tired of being on the receiving end of his bad mood. “About your age—and a lot happier.”
Jasper laughed.
Mortified, she waited for Roman to say something nasty. His mouth tipped slightly. Had he been baiting her? She ignored him and addressed Jasper. “Right now, the main thing I’m studying is my Bible.”
“A worthy endeavor.” Jasper smiled. “I’ve been known to read the Good Book myself.”
Roman looked preoccupied. “Grace, I need you ready at five. Talia wants us there early.”
“Brian is picking me up at four. I told Talia I’d—”
“Brian?” His eyes narrowed. “Who’s Brian?”
“A friend. He’s interested in your work.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
“He’s a youth pastor.”
“He couldn’t afford it, and you’ll be working.”
She let both the insult and the reminder go. Jasper was watching the exchange with far too much interest.
Roman stared at her. “Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? You’ll need time to get ready.”
Her lips parted. Did he just imply it would take hours for her to make herself presentable? “I’ll try not to embarrass you.” She wished he’d do the same. Roman started to say something and pressed his lips together. She looked at him and waited. Maybe he wanted to ask her what she was wearing. When he didn’t say anything more, she gave Jasper an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you later.”
The Masterpiece Page 16
