Dax nodded. Coonhound, hellhound, there was little difference.
“He’s currently a resident of Forever Friends,” Nichols said. “So, if you and Fred are serious, this guy is looking for his forever home.”
Dax jerked his head back. He scooted closer to William and glared at the old man. What the hell was the judge trying to do? William wasn’t a fit for those two. The judge might be a big donor to the shelter, but that didn’t give him the right to try to pawn off the dogs to any Tom, Dick, or Sally who came strutting by.
“Really?” Janice tipped her head to the side, considering.
“Is this one of the dogs you brought up from New Orleans?” the judge asked him.
“Yes,” Dax said tersely.
Judge Nichols grinned at the woman. “And he’s already been bred with good ol’ Southern manners. He’d fit right into your home.”
“We were looking at puppies, but it would be nice to get a dog that was already house-trained.” She tugged her hair from her son’s clenched fist. “Would you like the nice doggy, Mattie?”
Oh hell no. He wasn’t going to let some sticky-handed toddler get his claws on William. Not on Dax’s watch.
“William wouldn’t be a good fit for a family with children.” Dax scratched his jaw. “Uh, he’s really high energy. Needs a lot of attention.”
Janice shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m a stay-at-home mom and I’ve been looking in to getting back into a jogging routine. A high-energy dog might be the motivation I need.”
Dax ground his teeth together. Great, someone who wanted to take on a challenge. William cocked his head one way, then the other, one of his ears flipping inside out.
The dog didn’t have to worry. Dax wouldn’t let the little hair-puller become his new family. Besides, how much attention would William really get in a home with small kids? The parents would be too focused on their children to give the dog the attention he needed.
Dax rubbed his jaw. “He has behavioral issues. William shouldn’t be in a house with children. It wouldn’t be safe.” For William.
Janice’s forehead wrinkled. “He doesn’t look like a problem.”
Glancing down, Dax sighed. William had rolled to his back and was wiggling to and fro in the grass, his paws waving in the air, his tongue lolling to the ground.
Judge Nichols looked from Dax to William and back again. The edges of his eyes crinkled. “Maybe this dog isn’t for you after all,” he said to Janice. “But there are a lot of other great dogs down at the shelter. You and your husband should go check it out.”
“Doggies!” The boy bounced on his mom’s hip.
Now that Dax knew he wouldn’t be getting William, the kid actually seemed kind of cute. High-energy kids were definitely more fun.
Janice said goodbye and strolled off.
Dax waved and turned back to the judge. And the smirk on the older man’s face.
“What?” Dax asked.
“I thought you were just fostering this dog.”
“I am. He’s only with me until he gets adopted out.” Dax rubbed his chest. “I only want to make sure he gets a good home.”
“Janice has a fine family,” the judge said dryly. “Good for any dog.”
Dax sniffed. “She has enough on her hands running after a toddler. She wouldn’t want to chase after William, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
Dax patted his thigh, and William hopped to his feet. He shook his body, the shimmy finishing with just his rear end shaking.
“I’d better let you get back to your lunch,” Dax said, standing. “Thanks for the information.”
The judge’s face grew serious. “Dax, about your questions …”
“Honestly, it wasn’t about me.”
“I believe you.” Nichols planted his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. “But there’s something you need to keep in mind.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re still on probation,” the judge said. “Part of that probation is the requirement that you don’t associate with criminals. Tread very lightly here. And choose your friends wisely.”
Dax’s guts twisted. He swallowed. He hadn’t considered that. Lissa’s trouble could get him in trouble.
He drew his shoulders back. The chances were minimal. It sounded like Lissa hadn’t stolen anything, and the other charges were petty. And besides, what choice did he have? Cut her loose to face that jerk art dealer alone? Give her up and miss these last couple of weeks they had together?
That wasn’t an option.
“I understand.” Dax shoved his hand in his pocket. “And I appreciate the advice.”
Nichols studied him. “But whatever path you’re on, you’re determined to follow.”
Dax gave him a small smile. “Sometimes it’s the only path you can take.” He nodded goodbye and strode away, William at his side.
He was making the right decision. The only possible decision. He wanted Lissa’s smile greeting him every morning. Her beautiful eyes staring at him with invitation each night.
Nope. Spending as much time with Liss as possible was the right path to take. He only hoped his path wouldn’t end at a cliff.
* * * *
Lissa examined her painting and winced. If she stayed true to her natural style, there was just no way to make that little dog pretty. The rhinestone-studded turquoise collar Marla had bought for the Mexican hairless couldn’t accomplish it. Expensive grooming didn’t help either. A team of doggy plastic surgeons would be useless, even if they managed to right the little guy’s nose, which seemed to have been torn off and reattached sideways.
Tilting her head, she blew out her cheeks. Perhaps she should try cubism for this one.
“How’s it going?” Marla breezed into the elegant living room of her spacious home, a glass of iced tea in each hand. Her bare feet sank into the plush ivory carpet as she strode to Lissa behind her easel. “Are my darlings behaving themselves?”
“Your dogs are great models.” Which was true. Both the standard poodle and the Mexican hairless had the uncanny ability to follow Marla’s direction and sit still in one place with nary a tail thump or a scratch behind the ear. Lissa suspected it was the gourmet dog treats Marla fed them every few minutes. But well-behaved models didn’t translate into a pretty picture.
Lissa scratched her head with the end of her paintbrush. “Um, I’m wondering if I should take a different angle with this portrait. Maybe make it a little more surreal. Have some fun with it.”
Handing Lissa a glass, Marla stepped behind the easel and fell silent.
Lissa’s shoulders inched upward. She should have added some imaginary hair to the little dog, maybe put the Mexican hairless in a soft, out-of-focus glow. No owner wanted it thrown in her face how ugly her dog was.
“I’m nowhere near finished.” Lissa reached for a damp sponge to blot out some of her detail.
Marla rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly. “It’s as if I can actually see the movement of their hair from the breeze through the window.” She looked down at Lissa and shook her head in wonder. “You have an amazing talent. Figurative realism is definitely your calling.”
Lissa blinked. “Thanks.” Tilting her head, she reexamined her painting. The little tufts of hair on the small dog did look like they were in motion. Technically, it was pretty good, even if it didn’t make an attractive picture. “Unfortunately, this is the only style that comes naturally to me.”
“Why is that unfortunate? I’d give my right arm to paint like that.” Leaning down, Marla peered at the representation of the poodle’s tail. “This is as good as some of the Dutch Masters. And are those rune hieroglyphs in the background?”
“I like adding little details that are representative of the setting.” Pointing to the floor-to-ceiling bookcas
es lining the side wall of the living room, Lissa said, “I noticed you had several books that had these types of symbols on the cover. I thought if it was an interest of yours, adding glimpses in the painting would make it more personal.”
“Those are actually books on the fifteen Elvish languages and dialects of Tolkien,” Marla said.
Lissa’s eyebrows inched skyward. The silence of the room was broken only by the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner.
Marla sniffed. “Yes, I’m a nerd. Deal with it. And you’re right, the Angerthas alphabet is very similar to the runes used by ancient Germanic tribes.”
Lissa fought her smile. Who would have thought the woman who wore Dior and spent her time fund-raising for her charities with the high society of Michigan was a Lord of the Rings fanatic? “Those movies were really good,” Lissa said.
Marla gave her the side-eye. “They were adequate.”
Lissa shook her head ruefully. That put her in her place. She had to remember that to book lovers, the movie was never as good.
Marla turned her focus back to the painting. She brought her nose so close to the canvas, Lissa was afraid she’d get paint on it. “That’s me!” Marla pointed. “And Gabe, reflected in the vase. Sweet Jesus, it’s like Vermeer had an affair with Hieronymus Bosch.”
Lissa rolled her shoulders back and sat up straight on her stool. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. About her painting, at least. Dax had a pretty sweet tongue when it came to compliments, too, but she didn’t trust him to know a Caravaggio from a Cassatt. “I do love the Dutch. I guess it isn’t surprising I’ve been influenced by some of their greats.”
Marla shook her head. “This isn’t just influenced by them. This is giving them a run for their money. Again, why are you fighting against your natural style when it produces”—she swept her hand along the painting—“this?”
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Lissa shrugged. “There’s no true creativity in painting figures realistically. Yes, I add some offbeat details, but the main structure of the painting is just a clear depiction of the material world.” A true artist must interpret reality, not mimic it, her mother’s voice whispered in her head. Lissa’s chest burned. “A person might be skilled technically, but that only makes her an artisan, not an artist.”
Marla snorted. “I don’t know where you got that cockamamy idea in your head, but you should never doubt this is true art. Even when it’s my two dogs as the subjects.”
Dropping her head, Lissa blinked rapidly. How many times had she longed to hear similar words from her parents? Scratching at a spot of paint on her hand, she said, “I was planning on focusing on postmodern surrealism at Bruggard-Tayo. Do you really think that … this could be respected?” She loved painting in all styles, but her mix of figurative realism with surrealistic detailing was what made her excited to pick up a brush each day. She’d have painted 100 percent of her work like this if … if she thought anyone would value it.
“Absolutely. I’d love to show your pieces to some friends of mine in New York.” Marla took a sip of her iced tea, then set the glass down on the mantel over the fireplace. “Do you have anything else in this style?”
“A half-finished portrait of Dax.”
Marla’s lips twitched. “Is it appropriate for me to see? I don’t want Dax to get embarrassed if he’s au naturel.”
“Dax has absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.” The words slipped out, and Lissa clapped a hand over her mouth.
Marla tipped back her head and hooted. Her poodle barked along with her.
“Oh my God.” Lissa shook her head. “Please don’t say anything to anyone. That was totally inappropriate of me.”
“No worries. Dax is a tall man. If I bothered to think about it, which I haven’t, it would only make sense that everything is proportional.” She patted Lissa on the back. “Now, when can I see this picture of the perfectly proportional man?”
“What’s that now?” a male voice asked.
“Gabe!” Marla’s face lit up, and she hurried across the room to greet him. The dogs beat her to it, jumping on his legs and barking hello.
Gabe gave them both good chest rubs, then straightened and dropped a kiss on Marla’s upturned face. “Hey, babe. It’s good to see you, though I’ve got to say I could have done without hearing you want to ogle other men.”
“Not other men, silly. Dax.” Threading her fingers through Gabe’s, Marla tugged him over to Lissa. “Look what she’s done with Maddie and Hoover,” she said, pointing to the portrait of the dogs. “And she says she’s painted Dax.”
“Fully clothed,” Lissa said quickly. “In my painting, Dax is wearing all his clothes. And it’s only half-finished.”
Gabe raised his eyebrows. “This is good. After your mural with the unicorns, I was worried when Marla said you were painting the dogs. But I like this.”
Marla elbowed him in the side. “I like her unicorn, and it was only the one.”
“It was twenty feet tall.” Gabe crossed his arms over his chest. “With crazy eyes and a bloody horn.”
“It wasn’t blood—” Lissa huffed. There was no point explaining to someone like Gabe. She turned to Marla. “Do you want to see Dax’s portrait? I have it here with me.”
“Heck yeah,” Marla said at the same time Gabe mumbled, “Not really.”
Marla glared at him.
He lifted one shoulder. “I see that guy enough in real life.”
“Consider yourself lucky,” Lissa said tartly. Setting the dogs’ portrait aside, she opened her flat portfolio case, slid the half-finished portrait from its depths, and set it up on the easel. “Well?” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “What do you think?” she asked Marla.
Marla took a step back and crossed her arms, leaned close, then circled behind Lissa to look from a different angle. Bending, she positioned her head close to the painting and peered at the shading in Dax’s pants.
“Hey!” Gabe cupped Marla’s elbow and drew her a step back. “You don’t need to get that up close and personal with Dax’s junk. Even on paper.”
Marla rolled her eyes and turned to Lissa. “How did you get that effect on his belt buckle? It’s almost hypnotizing.”
“First, I added a hard medium to my acrylic paint, then I layered that mixture with just the medium by itself when I painted the brass. By building up the layers, you can create a very shiny surface.”
Gabe lowered his head and leaned in. “That is pretty cool.”
“Now who’s staring at Dax’s junk?” Marla asked sweetly.
Gabe gave her a look and went to sit on the couch. The dogs trotted after him, leaping up beside him.
Lissa wiped her palm on her jeans. “So … do you think it’s good enough to show your friends? Obviously I need to finish the background. I was focused on just painting Dax. The surrounding scenery didn’t matter at first.”
“It’s beautiful.” Laying a hand on Lissa’s shoulder, Marla squeezed. “Any time you want to take a trip with me to New York, I’d love to introduce you to my friends. Or take some good pictures of your work and I’d be happy to send them on.”
Lissa squealed and threw her arms around Marla. Getting accepted to Bruggard-Tayo had been amazing. But if she could actually sell some of her work to New York dealers … Well, that would make her a real artist. There would be no way her parents could deny it.
She stepped back, some of her enthusiasm waning. Even if she had a painting shown at the Guggenheim, her parents still wouldn’t believe in her. Lissa knew the truth of that deep down to her soul. They’d complain that the museum’s standards had lowered. That commercialism was overcoming true art. But … Lissa inhaled deeply and let some of the tension seep from her shoulders. But that knowledge didn’t cut quite as deeply as before.
She … she was good. She was starting to believe that mor
e every day. Maybe she’d never be a master or get her name in the art history books, but she was a good painter. She lifted up her chin. And it was time she stopped seeking her parents’ approval.
“Thank you, Marla,” she said softly. “You don’t know how much that means to me. Maybe once I have more paintings in my natural style ready, I’ll take you up on your offer. But I’ve been experimenting with so many different styles, my portfolio now looks like one eclectic mess.” She looked back at the portrait, her eyes tracing the lines of Dax’s face. “I think at Bruggard-Tayo I’ll make this my focus. It’s what I love.”
“Good choice.” Marla nodded. She picked up the portrait of her dogs and held it next to Dax’s picture. “And I’m going to have an original Annelise Ansel hanging above my fireplace.”
“The dogs are going above the fireplace?” Gabe asked.
Marla ignored him. She looked between the two paintings. “It’s amazing. Both paintings are executed so well, but you can still tell the difference in the emotion you were feeling.”
Lissa frowned. “What are you talking about?”
One edge of Marla’s lips tipped up. “Your painting of Dax. It’s like a diary being read aloud, telling everyone how you feel about him.”
A tingling sensation swept up the back of Lissa’s neck and across her face. Stepping forward, she packed up Dax’s portrait. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Marla raised an eyebrow.
Lissa took the dog painting from Marla and stuck it back on the easel. She plopped down on her stool in front of it. Picking up a brush, she focused on filling in the window behind the sofa. “Look, he’s a great guy. I mean, like the best man I’ve ever met.” Better than she probably deserved. “But it’s just not our time. I’m going to school soon. If he wants to try the long-distance thing, I’d …” She’d jump on that like a dog on a meaty bone. But did long-distance ever work? Or would it just keep Dax from meeting the right woman?
Lissa cleared her throat. “Well, I’d have to think about that.”
“If you love him, you should go for it,” Marla said. “Don’t let a little thing like a couple of thousand miles get in your way.”
Forever Wild Page 17
