But Sam had no special gifts, nothing magic like the rest of her relatives.
“Well?” The elderly woman hit her fist on the counter. “Are you deaf?” the woman asked.
It was the same question Sam’s mother had always asked her when Sam didn’t immediately jump up to help her, although her mom had sometimes added stupidity to her queries.
“Are you deaf or just stupid?”
Sam shook off the memory. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I can have Aunt Emma call you when she gets back.” She set a slip of paper and a pen on the counter and pushed it toward the woman.
The woman swore under her breath as she wrote down her information then left.
Unfortunately, Sam’s memories refused to stop poking at her mind.
“Why are you so dumb? How am I supposed to drag the midway if I can’t leave you alone for a second without you screwing everything up? What a damn retard. You cost me a four-dollar piece of plush with your stupid paint. Who wants a white teddy bear with red fingerprints all over it?”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Sam had wanted to run back to the trailer they shared with her mother’s then-boyfriend, far from the crowded midway and all the eyes boring into her, all the other carnies and the locals laughing at her. Only her mother had her by the collar. And apparently, the spectacle was bringing people over to her mom’s hoop-la booth.
The door chime jarred Sam back to the moment as another customer came in. She pasted on a smile. “Can I help you?”
The next two hours were pure torture as Sam struggled to run the register and find items customers requested. Even though most of the shoppers were nicer than the old woman, and infinitely more patient, Sam felt like a total failure. Why hadn’t she swallowed her pride and asked Eli to stay and help her a little longer?
It was almost six pm when the store finally cleared out. Every muscle in Sam’s body complained. She’d be a complete wreck by the time Aunt Emma returned. How in the world would she manage running the shop for the next nine days?
She had to get some help. She’d lost touch with the few friends she’d made in high school, and the only other locals she knew were the people who worked at the nearby businesses who wouldn’t have time to help Sam handle the store.
She could ask Eli if he’d consider coming back in the morning, but why would he? The man had a life. Leaning on her aunt’s stool behind the counter, Sam straightened the register. After the way she’d overreacted to Eli peeking at her sketchpad, he probably wanted nothing more to do with her.
Maybe there was something she could do for him, a way to repay him for his kindness—and at the same time convince him to stay on for a day, an hour, or whatever he’d agree to. Even if he couldn’t help her out anymore, she owed him for the time he’d already put in.
Her eyes landed on the framed drawing of Aunt Emma hanging over the door. Sam’s work was much better now than it had been when she’d made the charcoal portrait, but Emma had always loved it.
“You give people a piece of yourself when you draw them,” Emma had said.
Sam did have something she could give Eli—her art. Without a moment’s hesitation, she hurried out to her car and retrieved her paint-splattered tackle box from the trunk. Minutes later, she sat in the back room of the store and started sketching Eli from memory on a piece of craft paper.
She used hard and soft pastels, for his eyes—celadon and seafoam; mocha, cypress, and cinnamon for his hair and the shadow of stubble on his face. Studying her work-in-progress, she knew she was missing something—but what? She added sparkle to his eyes, dimples on either side of his mouth. Details always came back to her when she drew from memory, stuff she hadn’t realized that she’d noticed.
Would she ever see him again? Regret tugged at her insides. Getting his help at the herb shop was only part of the reason. She’d liked him—a lot. He’d been so kind to her, for no reason in particular. That made him a rarity in her world.
The guys she’d met in the last few years always wanted something from her—usually sex. After they got it, they stopped even the most basic polite gestures.
Eli had seemed different as if he genuinely cared. Why had she insisted she could do this without him? Because she liked him too much. And whenever she started counting on anyone, they left her. They always did. So why bother getting too comfortable having him around? But she needed his help.
As she sketched and added in colors and shading, her fragile confidence returned. Doing what she loved—what she was good at—filled her with happiness. Almost an hour had passed when she checked the time again. A few more touches and she quit for the time being.
After locking the door, she phoned Eli. When his voicemail picked up, she nearly disconnected, but she wanted him to have the sketch after she finished it later. “Eli, hi. I made you something. Give me a call, and I’ll drop it off to you, or you can come by and pick it up. Oh, this is Samantha, by the way.” She hung up, shaking her head at her awkward message. Maybe he’d call back, maybe he wouldn’t. She packed up her art supplies, counted out the register, and put the money in Emma’s bank bag. Would her aunt pay her for working at the store? The thought brought with it a stab of guilt, considering everything Emma had done for her.
Glimpsing the empty wall space above the herb jars gave her an idea. Aunt Emma wouldn’t mind if Sam hung some of her work there. Lots of restaurants and gift shops were decorated with art that was for sale. Why not at Eye of Newt? Her aunt would forgive her a few nails in the wall that could easily be patched.
She headed to her car to grab some of her work. A few minutes later, she had the first three pieces hung—two still lifes and her newest painting, a portrait of her father that she’d done from an old photograph. She’d added in the sapphire brooch he’d left her since that was all she had of him, although she hadn’t gotten the jewel’s faceting just right. If she sold that picture, she’d paint another rendition to keep. She moved the stepladder over and was about to climb up and hammer in more nails when her cell rang. Absently, she answered. “Hello?”
“You have something for me, hmm?” Eli asked. “What is it?”
A shiver of excitement danced over her skin. “You’ll have to wait and see.” She held the phone closer to her ear and offered up a wish that he’d suggest coming by the store in the morning, or better still, tonight.
“Now, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”
She imagined the rich timbre of his voice as colors—moss green, sienna, and midnight blue. Since when did just talking to a guy on the phone make her stomach do flips? She did want his help at the store, but more than that, she had a desire to see him again. The sooner, the better. “I’ll make you a deal.”
He laughed. “A deal? How could I refuse?”
Pleasant heat coursed through her. “You shouldn’t. I think I sort of ruined your lunch. How about you let me make it up to you over dinner?” At his silence, she crossed her fingers. “Unless you’ve already eaten.”
“No, I haven’t. I’d like that.”
The cat café would be closing in half an hour, and most of the other restaurants in town were out of her price range. She could invite him to her aunt’s house. Emma’s note had said that she’d left plenty of food for Sam in the fridge.
Normally she wouldn’t ask someone she’d just met, but if Eli had wanted to, he could have stolen cash from the shop’s register when she’d gone to the bathroom, or even when she was busy helping customers. He hadn’t.
“I could fix us dinner. I’m a good cook.”
“Sounds like a plan. Can I bring anything?”
“Nope. Just yourself. Give me an hour to clean up.”
After texting him the address and locking up the store, she drove the short distance to her aunt’s house in The Cove subdivision. Sam used the flashlight app on her phone to find the spare key under the same flowerpot where Emma had always kept it. She let herself in, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of the dried lavender her aunt had in
crystal bowls throughout the cottage. Nothing had changed in the years since Sam had last been there, from the colorful crocheted afghan over the rocking chair in the living room, to the umbrella stand in the front hall that held a few umbrellas and one old handmade broom.
She shut her eyes and let the memories wrap around her like a warm, wooly coat: losing at Scrabble to her aunt at the small kitchen table, having a sleepover with a friend from school, the first time Sam had ever done that. She recalled sitting on the sofa watching a movie with the boy she’d liked, under her aunt’s watchful eye; unwrapping her gift on her fourteenth birthday, her first set of good paints, the best thing her aunt—or anyone else—had ever given her.
Ginger—Aunt Emma’s orange tabby strode toward Sam and stretched as if she’d recently awakened from a long nap.
“Just as pretty as ever, sweet girl.” Sam crouched to pet the feline, who purred in response. As Sam headed into the kitchen, the cat weaved a path ahead, trying to steer Sam to the set of silver bowls on the floor in the corner.
“I know,” Sam said. “You’re hungry. We’re going to take care of that right now.” After she’d fixed a soupy mixture of wet cat food and water for Ginger—per Aunt Emma’s instructions—Sam headed down the hall.
Her old bedroom was exactly as she’d left it, only neater. Same colorful flowered bedspread and matching curtains. Smiling, she set her bags on the bed. She had just enough time for a quick shower before Eli arrived.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she dug in her suitcase and fished out the black velvet pouch that held the brooch. She loosened the drawstring and removed the small plastic box. Every time she looked at the midnight-blue stone, she was struck by how the jewel glittered as if it had somehow pulled all the light within a mile into itself.
Last time she’d visited her dad—a couple of years ago—he’d said that the brooch was hundreds of years old, and had belonged to a Scottish noblewoman. No telling if that was true, or the part about the sapphire having magical powers. It wasn’t that she doubted the notion of magic. Heck, she’d witnessed all sorts of otherworldly powers right in her own family. But she’d yet to test the powers of the piece.
She wished she could contact her aunt and find out why Emma hadn’t wanted Sam to make any decisions about the sapphire until they spoke. Weeks ago, Aunt Emma had wired her four hundred bucks to get her through until she’d been paid for the mural in Virginia. That money was nearly gone now.
What if her dad had been telling the truth about the sapphire? Was it possible that it could stop someone from lying? She held the brooch against her chest and racked her brain to think up a lie. She had to giggle at the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t find Eli…” Her throat seized up as she tried to utter the last word—attractive.
A chill rolled over her skin. “I don’t find Eli…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It was as if she had laryngitis.
Because it’s a lie.
The sapphire really was magic. Her heart raced. Before she could test the stone’s magic with a different lie, headlights hopscotched through the window. Teasing back the curtain, she saw Eli’s car next to hers. She returned the jewel to its pouch and stashed it in a vase on the dresser. Then she went to answer the door barefoot, hair still tangled and damp.
Eli was also wearing jeans. A green polo shirt emphasized his broad shoulders. He gave her that disarming smile, dimples and all.
She ignored the pleasant ache low in her belly, and she stepped aside. “Come on in.”
He handed her two bottles as he brushed past her. “I didn’t know what you were cooking, so I hedged my bets.”
Ginger appeared out of nowhere to inspect the stranger.
Eli chuckled and petted the cat’s back. “Who’s this?”
“That’s Ginger,” Sam supplied. “She thinks she owns the place, which of course, she does. And don’t put your keys down where she can get them. She has a bad habit of stealing things.”
“Nice to meet you, Ginger, you little thief.”
The feline meowed up at him and rubbed against his shins. Then she ran off as if on an important mission.
Inhaling Eli’s masculine scent, Sam’s pulse kicked up a notch. “I just got out of the shower. I need a minute to get myself together.”
His eyes grew dark as sin as he skimmed his gaze over her from head to toe. “I can’t imagine that you could improve upon this look.”
The heat of awareness seeped through her. Shutting the door, she was reminded of how heavily wooded this part of the subdivision was, which made Aunt Emma’s cottage invisible to the neighbors. Had it been a mistake to invite Eli here?
Getting involved with a man she’d just met—someone who was completely not her type—was the most reckless thing she could do. For heaven’s sake. She hadn’t even been back in town for twenty-four hours.
She suddenly remembered the reading Mallory had given her earlier. She’d said something about a whirlwind romance, and she’d warned Sam that the guy couldn’t be trusted. She drew a steadying breath. Had she made a mistake by inviting Eli to her aunt’s secluded cabin?
Chapter Four
Eli mentally kicked himself. Instead of putting Sam at ease, he’d allowed his attraction for her to show. Now he’d first have to calm the wariness he saw in her eyes before he could even attempt to get her to trust him. He had to remember that she was his mark, not a potential lover. When she turned her back on him and set the wine on the counter, he took a backward step, putting a little more space between them. “Sure you don’t want to go out to eat? I hate for you to go to any trouble. And to be perfectly honest, I can tell you’re nervous about being alone with me. I can assure you that I won’t turn into a werewolf. That only happens to me where there’s a full moon.”
She faced him, eyeing him for several moments, and the crease of her brow gradually smoothed out. Her tense stance relaxed, although she hadn’t even cracked a smile at his joke. “This is fine, as long as it’s okay with you.”
“A home-cooked meal? Yeah, it’s great.” He rubbed his hands together and followed Sam a few steps to a postage-stamp-size kitchen. “What can I do to help with dinner?”
“What are werewolves good at?” Finally, she smiled.
“Good question. Tearing stuff apart? Trying to fool little girls in red cloaks?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “That was a regular old wolf, not a werewolf.”
“I failed fairytales in kindergarten.”
She took down two glasses from the overhead rack. “Opener is in the drawer next to the stove. Either bottle’s fine. I’ll be back in a sec. Then I’ll check out Aunt Emma’s fridge for ingredients.”
“An improvising chef. Impressive.”
A grin lifted one corner of her mouth. “You should probably wait to see what I come up with before you start handing me compliments.” With that, she strode from the room.
Eli uncorked the Chardonnay while he scanned the kitchen. Had Sam taken the time to hide the brooch? The kitchen would be a logical place. With a bunch of shelves packed with various containers, a refrigerator full of food, and drawers and cabinets that were probably crammed with all sorts of the junk people stashed away, it would take him hours to search the room. No, he wouldn’t be able to merely rummage through the cottage and find the sapphire. He’d have to gain her trust to get her to tell him where she was keeping it.
Sam returned with her hair a little drier, the curls already starting to poof. She still smelled just as wonderful as she had before—like patchouli and sweet orange, scents he was now familiar with after several hours of mixing essential oils for her aunt’s customers.
Picking up one of the wine glasses he’d filled, she took a sip. “Mm. That’s good.” She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath then exhaled slowly. “Wine and a hot shower. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
“I know today was difficult for you. I’m sorry if I added any tension.”
She widened her eyes. “You? Seriously? I’d have never gotten through it without your help. It was challenging, though. A few of the customers took me for an incompetent idiot because I wasn’t able to find what they were looking for in a nanosecond. One of them actually said so to my face.” Her brow furrowed for a moment. She took another drink. “Doesn’t matter. Growing up with a mother who constantly hurled insults at me, I grew a thick skin.”
A weight constricted his chest. “That doesn’t make it right.”
Shrugging, she set her glass down and opened the fridge. “Gotta love Aunt Emma. Looks like she's still doing her shopping at a wholesale club and buying enough to feed an army.”
With Sam engrossed in figuring out their menu, this would be a great opportunity to snoop around. “Mind if I use your restroom?” he asked.
Without taking her head out of the refrigerator, she said, “Second door on the left.”
He wasted no time checking out the bathroom medicine cabinet. Nothing but the usual suspects there. With a glance toward the kitchen, he quietly padded to the room across the hall. The light and ceiling fan was on. The open suitcase on the bed and a tackle box dotted with paint on the floor told him it was Sam’s room. An uncomfortable heaviness pressed his abdomen.
He held perfectly still and listened. From the kitchen, pots clanged, and an electric mixer or blender turn on. With Sam occupied, he seized the moment to quickly search her suitcase but came up empty—except for his remorse over invading her privacy.
When the appliance noise stopped, he slipped out of the bedroom and made his way back to the kitchen. A painting on the wall in the hallway caught his eye—a little girl with auburn curls sat on a blanket on the beach, dwarfed by dunes and seagrass. There was something so sad and lonely about the child. Even the muted browns and moss greens scrub palms evoked such a gloomy feel. The initials in the bottom right corner were painted in white—SC. His eyes burned as he focused on the girl.
“Did you fall in?”
He jumped at Sam’s voice. Standing in the kitchen doorway holding her wine, she tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him a better view of her long, graceful neck and a silver hoop earring.
Gambling on the Artist Page 5
