There was promise in the kiss. A deep, searching exploration that hinted at a long night ahead. Their mouths fit perfectly together. Two puzzle pieces that were meant to interlock. Just when Madison considered wrapping a leg around CS’s waist and taking the kiss a step further, another mouth tried to get in on the action.
“Violet, do you mind?”
CS gave the horse a stern look and she backed off, removing her twitching lips from their cheeks. Taking Madison by the hand, CS led them out of the stable and closed the door behind her, Violet’s disappointed nickering ringing behind them.
“I hope you don’t mind,” CS said sheepishly while they climbed the stairs to her apartment. “I thought we’d have dinner here tonight. I cooked.”
The apartment was comfortable if a bit spartan. The kitchen was tucked into a corner of the living room. It wasn’t the open concept of the cottage, but more a home shoved into a space that had never been meant to be living quarters. Still, the couch was deep and heavily cushioned and the walls were covered with photographs and paintings that made the place feel homey.
“I’m afraid dinner won’t be what you’re used to,” CS said, handing Madison a glass of wine and fingering the rim of her own. “After Kacey.”
Madison had just been admiring the chiseled curve of CS’s jaw, but the comment pulled her out of her reverie and soured the wine. “I don’t want to talk about anyone else tonight. Especially not Kacey.”
“I guess I was just wondering if you’ve heard anything from her.”
“No, and I don’t want to.”
CS chanced a glance away from her wineglass in Madison’s direction. “So…you and I?”
“What about us?”
“Is there an us, or is this just a casual thing?”
This thing between them was new and fun and Madison enjoyed that, but CS was right. They needed to talk about it. To define it. More than anything else, CS deserved the reassurance. It was neither kind nor productive to keep her waiting.
Madison set her wineglass down on the table, then put CS’s down beside her own. CS didn’t object when Madison slid her hands into her open, calloused palms. She took a moment to massage CS’s knuckles with her thumbs.
“I don’t know how you feel, but this is not a casual thing for me. I have feelings for you. I don’t know that I’m ready to name them yet, but I want to spend as much time with you as I can and find out.”
CS let her lips twitch up ever so slightly, but Madison hurried on before she could speak.
“I was telling you the truth yesterday.” Was it really only yesterday? It felt like they’d been precious to each other for so much longer. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time. I’m not exactly proud to admit it, but I wanted you long before Kacey left.”
The conflict was clear in CS’s voice, like she didn’t want to risk breaking this moment with truth. “Wanting me and wanting to be with me are different things.”
“I know. I’m still working through what exactly my heart says. Just because I had feelings for you doesn’t mean that I’m not hurt or sad about what Kacey did. It makes it worse, actually, because I’m just as much to blame as she is.”
“Absolutely not.” CS’s hands stiffened around Madison’s and her eyes flashed with real anger. “Don’t you compare yourself to her. You didn’t act on anything—she did. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Madison squeezed back, feeling CS’s hands relax. She didn’t believe she was innocent, but she didn’t want to talk about that.
“That’s not important now. I want to talk about us.” She took a long breath and forced herself to give voice to her fear. The fear that Laura was wrong about CS’s feelings. “I want to talk about you. I know this wasn’t something you were looking for.”
“What do you mean?”
“This was something I pushed for. If you want something casual, I get that.”
“You think I don’t want a relationship because I stopped you after our first kiss, don’t you?”
“I just…I thought you were flirting with me so many times before, but I was wrong. I just don’t want to misread anything.”
Madison wasn’t sure how to interpret the long silence that followed. CS was a thoughtful person—silence was common for her—but this wasn’t the time to be taciturn. If she was honest, Madison wanted CS to tell her she was wrong. Profess her undying love. She needed reassurance too.
“Follow me,” she said at last, releasing Madison’s hands and heading for the back of the apartment.
She followed CS, hope speeding her steps and fear dragging them back. She really just wanted to sit down and have a quiet dinner. That would be far easier than this conversation, but this was a pivotal moment for them. One that would define at least their immediate futures, and being with CS made her feel strong. She could handle anything CS said.
Her bedroom was even barer than the rest of the apartment. A neatly made, surprisingly small double bed nearly filled the room. A thin rug covered most of the hardwood floor and a single, large print of Wyeth’s Christina’s World hung on the wall over her headboard. Apart from these modest touches, the room could have belonged to anyone. At least that’s what Madison thought until CS indicated the far corner of the room.
A stunning pedestal end table carved from cherry wood was sighted so that the occupant of the bed would have the perfect view of the single item on its surface. An amphora. Her amphora. The one that had sold to an anonymous buyer during her show at the Welch Gallery. The one she wept at losing. Her favorite piece she’d ever made.
Madison’s feet barely touched the floor as she crossed the room. She stroked the glaze with the delicacy it deserved. With a light touch not all that different from the way CS touched her.
“This sold. Months ago. Long before…”
CS was behind her, her fingers reaching out to touch the vase with the same trembling reverence. “I thought at the time…I just saw it and I had to have it.”
“This went for a ridiculously high price.”
CS shrugged. “I got into a bidding war.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I had to have it. There’s so much of you in this piece. I had to have something of you.” CS’s eyes were fixed on the ground. “When I thought I could never have you. This was the next best thing.”
Madison never found out what CS had made for dinner. She didn’t leave the bedroom again until well after sunrise.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Violet’s self-important snort announced her arrival just as Madison set a stone on the last corner of the blanket. It was windier than her last trip to the lone tree at the top of the hill, but the gnarled trunk provided enough protection from the weather.
“What’s this?” CS asked as she climbed down from the saddle and held out Madison’s note.
“An invitation,” Madison explained, reaching up to kiss CS on the cheek. “To lunch.”
She’d left the note on the kitchen counter the night before, knowing she wouldn’t wake up in time to deliver it in person, and she spent the entire morning preparing the spread. Grabbing CS’s hand, she led her to the blanket and told her to sit. It still amazed Madison that all CS required was a simple request and she would let Madison take the lead. Neither her ego nor her machismo rebelled the way Kacey’s always had. Once CS was settled, Madison grabbed the canvas bag beside their picnic basket, slipping a few apple slices on top of the grain before attaching the feedbag around Violet’s muzzle.
“I saw that,” CS said, leaning back against the tree with a groan of pleasure. Her neck and shoulders popped as she slipped her hands behind her head. “You’re spoiling her.”
“She’s already spoiled, and anyway this is the only way to keep her away from our basket.”
The wind died down to a breeze and the sun warmed their shoulders as they ate their way through the food. Chicken salad with toasted almonds and raisins was CS’s favorite, but Madison was partial to her fruit sala
d, bursting with berries from local farms and some of the best pears she’d ever eaten. Chef Roger, who had recently been experimenting with sourdough in his restaurant, contributed some dinner rolls and a few of his favorite cheeses. No one interrupted their lunch, not even Violet who munched at her feed and ignored the humans on the other side of the tree.
“I could fall asleep right here,” CS said with a contented smile, closing her eyes as a ray of sunlight played across her face.
“Oh no you don’t,” Madison said, scrambling to her feet. “Take off your shirt.”
That got CS’s eyes open in a hurry. “Uh…Madison I don’t think…”
“That’s not what I mean.” She laughed and pushed CS away from the tree, sliding in behind her. “Leave your undershirt on. I can see the knots in your shoulders from here.”
CS moved with deliberation, looking around the property with every loosened button. It was the busy season and the hotel was booked solid, but while guests wandered the perimeters of the building and grounds, no one ventured this far into the vines.
Tossing her shirt over the same limb where her dusty cowboy hat hung, CS gave one final look around before settling back onto the ground between Madison’s outstretched legs. Madison took a moment to watch the play of lean muscle through the thick cotton of her tank top before pulling her close.
She squeezed one of the bunched muscles near CS’s neck with all her might. “I’m getting rid of these knots before you go back to work.”
Her only response was a groan. CS leaned back into her hands as Madison kneaded and squeezed tortured muscles. “Anything you want, just don’t stop.”
“I’ve heard you say that before,” Madison said with a chuckle. A red glow crept up CS’s neck, which only made her laugh again. “What’s got you so tense anyway? Something wrong with the winery?”
“Not at all, we’re doing better than we ever have.”
“So what’s with this?” Madison asked as she ground the heel of her hand into a stubborn muscle on her right shoulder.
CS hissed but leaned into the massage again. “I have to make a decision about the pinot gris. I’ve been considering switching it over from oak barrels to stainless steel tanks. If I go stainless I need to order them now to have them in time for harvest.”
“You think stainless will be better?”
“Yeah, I do. It’ll be easier and safer for the staff with fewer small barrels to move. And I think the wine will do well in stainless. Last year’s vintage was too heavy, almost like a chardonnay. Not my best work.”
“Sounds like you’ve already decided.”
Madison worked her way across to the left shoulder, this one even more tense than the right.
“But oak is traditional and there are certainly benefits to it. Maybe if I move the pinot gris vines to another spot. It’s time to rotate in a couple years and if I move them and decide they need oak again I’ll have spent a ton of money on tanks I can’t use.”
“Do you always plan your life out years in advance?”
“Always,” she replied, leaning forward so Madison could massage her neck along her spine. “Running a vineyard is eighty percent good planning and twenty percent scrambling to fix your bad planning.”
Madison gave one last hard squeeze that had CS groaning all over again before wrapping her arms around her chest and pulling her in. She held CS like that for a long time, resting her cheek on the newly relaxed muscles before leaning back against the tree with CS lying on her chest. The sun sparkled through the leaves, blinding her, so she shut her eyes and let herself soak in the peaceful glow.
“How about you?” CS murmured with a voice wrapped in contentment. “Did you throw anything this morning?”
“Not today. I’m in the planning phase.”
She’d been toying with an idea for a few weeks. A new design and she wasn’t at all sure she could pull it off. If she was up to the challenge, it would be her masterpiece.
“So we’re both planners.”
Madison laughed, her mirth not sufficient to move the solid mass of her girlfriend pressed against her. “I suppose we are. I’m thinking of ordering a different type of clay. Something a bit more delicate.”
“Won’t that make it harder to work with?”
“Yes, but it will also make a vase with thinner walls. It’ll be lighter so I can make it taller. It’ll be tricky, but I think it’ll be worth it.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
“You’re sweet, but this can’t possibly be interesting to you.”
CS turned her head, trying to look at Madison but not willing to move outside the circle of her arms. “Of course it’s interesting. I love your work.”
“Yeah, but clay composition isn’t the most entertaining subject.”
“Almost as entertaining as stainless steel fermenting tanks?”
“Almost.”
CS turned her face back to the sun and the ends of her hair, now reaching her collar, tickled Madison’s cheek. She reached up and brushed her fingers through it, noticing for the first time stray strands of flashing silver in amongst the sandy blond. Madison leaned in, resting her lips against the shell of CS’s ear and whispered, “You need a haircut.”
Feeling CS shiver became the new highlight of her day, surpassing even the blush she’d won earlier. Before her mind or her lips could wander, CS pushed herself to her feet.
“I’m sorry, babe, but I have to get back to work.” She knelt down in front of Madison, her wide smile outshining the sun. “See you tonight?”
“Of course. Come to my place. I’ll be working late.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
“Stellar. Incredible. Huge.”
Madison lay on one of the deck loungers while Jada listed adjectives. She’d laid the lounger flat and watched the clouds scamper across the sky, the same breeze that propelled them whipping her hair around and whistling between her toes.
The summer sun toasted her skin so she felt beads of sweat despite the wind. The vines around her were heavy with foliage and ripening grapes. The cycle of life at Minerva Hills was rolling on, finding its peak again. It meant long hours outside for CS, freeing up long hours inside for Madison.
“Everyone loved everything,” Jada said. “The sneak peek was a hit. Now it’s time to schedule the show.”
“That’s great news, Jada.”
“Not so fast.” Her tone changed with the snap of her teeth. “They loved what they saw, but what they really wanted to see wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean?”
“You, foolish woman. They wanted to see you. They wanted to know why this hot new artist wouldn’t be around for her own show. Your bio still has you listed as living in Denver.”
“Why didn’t you change it?”
“I was waiting for you to decide about coming back.”
Madison sat up, the heat making her head spin. “I told you I’d think about it.”
“You clearly haven’t been doing any thinking recently, Madison.”
Annoyance stabbed at Madison, the sharp snap of accusation in her voice. “That’s not fair. You encouraged me when I told you about CS.”
“I encouraged you to get laid, darling. It was supposed to clear your head. Obviously it didn’t work.”
Madison wasn’t sure why the simple statement offended her so much. “My head is perfectly clear.”
Jada adopted the soothing, motherly tone she used with her more difficult artists. “I’m just saying you should think about becoming more accessible.”
“What does that have to do with me living in Oregon?”
“Being accessible doesn’t just mean showing up at your openings. It means you have a studio rich buyers can visit. Living in a cabin out in the woods doesn’t work when your pieces are all the rage. If you were in Napa, that’d be one thing, but the mountains of Oregon may as well be the moon.”
It wasn’t an unreasonable suggestion, but Madison had no interest in logic at the moment
.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think about it too long, Maddie. That’s how people go from ‘the next big thing’ to ‘she had so much potential.’”
She hung up without another word. Jada lived for drama. The suggestion wasn’t surprising, even if it was aggravating. Jada was right and Madison knew it. She was an expert in this sort of thing. She had turned many artists from unknown to successful with little more than a savvy plan and determination. The only ones who failed were those who failed to take her advice.
Madison looked around. She listened to the lack of sound. She breathed in the fresh air. This place was a dream. Living here was like being on permanent vacation. She sighed, annoying herself with the cliché, and knew that she had to end the vacation if she expected to keep her job. She didn’t want to think about what she would lose if she left Minerva Hills, so she decided to pour herself into work.
But everything was off. The clay wasn’t cooperating. She couldn’t center it properly. Each time she got height, it would collapse. Everything was spinning unevenly. On the seventh failed attempt to make a simple stemmed cup, Madison screamed from the very center of her gut. The sound tore through her throat, ripping it to shreds after so long in silence. The pain felt good, so she stopped her wheel and screamed again.
She closed her eyes and pictured leaving the vineyard. She screamed at the image of CS’s imagined features, twisted in betrayal. This time it wasn’t angry, it was a strangled cry of pain. Next, she pictured staying, but losing any chance at a meaningful career. Sitting in her home studio, spinning out bud vases to sell for a few bucks in her girlfriend’s shop. A failed artist. A kept woman.
Her third scream forced her to her feet. It was the feral roar of a caged animal. She grabbed a fistful of crumpled clay and threw it with all her might. It exploded against the wall, leaving a blood splatter of gray on the windows.
“Fuck.” Madison said the word quietly, defeated. She tried again with ever increasing anger and volume. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
And Then There Was Her Page 26
