by Cara Putman
Jonathan slowed down. He should head home and take a shower before slipping into the office. Good thing his first meeting wasn’t until ten. He watched Alanna power around a couple out for an early morning ride.
Why did she run from the past? From him? The real Alanna was far different from the one he’d carried in his memories. Her return highlighted that. Much as he didn’t like it, maybe he needed to see. How else would he move on?
Thirty loomed around the corner. He didn’t want to live alone the rest of his life. He’d always imagined a passel of kids wrestling with him every night after work. Waiting for a mirage wouldn’t make that dream a reality. He loved every moment with Jaclyn’s little boy, Dylan, but he wanted kids of his own, too.
Until she confronted whatever demons chased her, Alanna wouldn’t return to the strong, feisty woman he remembered. She had feisty in spades, but strength eluded her. Instead, she seemed worn down. Weary. Yet drawn to the past like a moth to the bug zapper on his porch.
His legs burned as he pumped home. A quick shower later and he again had dripping hair as he stood in his kitchen. His stomach growled. A protein bar wasn’t going to fill him after that ride, but he didn’t have time to make breakfast. He grabbed a browning banana and peeled it as he exited the small cabin. The cabin hadn’t seemed too small before, but with dreams of Alanna floating in his head, he knew she couldn’t be satisfied with a place like his. No room to make it her own.
He shoved the last bite in his mouth and headed down the hill, eventually taking Fort to Market. He avoided looking in the Painted Stone’s window as he rolled past. The last thing he needed was another dose of Alanna’s poison.
The moment he stepped in the office, the phone rang. He sucked in a deep, steadying breath then picked up the implement. “Mackinac Island Events.”
“Jonathan Covington, just the man I wanted to talk to.” The gruff voice rang with strength.
“Good morning, Mr. Morris.”
“Edward, son. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“A few more to overcome my mother’s training.”
The man’s rich laugh tickled Jonathan’s ear. “This is why I like you. Polite with a deadly sense of humor.” A moment of silence descended, and then Edward cleared his throat. “Bonnie loves all your ideas, like I said the other day, but it’s not enough. Any thoughts on how we can make it bigger? She’s the love of my life for as long as the good Lord lets me keep her. I want to celebrate her in a big way.”
“Well. . .” Jonathan’s mind spun, thoughts engaged by the challenge of creating something client worthy on the fly. “She’s a special lady.”
“That she is.”
“What does she like to do?”
“Mentor young moms. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I come home even now to find her stretched out on the couch and a young mom and her baby sitting next to her. She’s always giving.” Edward cleared his throat.
“Do you want to add something to the events or find something she can take home?”
“It needs to be something that’s a visual reminder of our love. I’m not the best at saying the words. Too much like my dad in that respect. But I don’t want her to ever doubt me.”
“Didn’t you say she liked art? Maybe a painting from the island?” Edward had broached the idea earlier. Jonathan hoped he still liked it.
“Maybe.” Jonathan could imagine the man stroking his chin. “But it needs to be extremely special. She’s always loved art though. Before she got sick, she served on the local art council. I know she misses it.”
“You liked what you saw at the Painted Stone. How about I talk to a local artist about a commission? I can send photos of her art—they’re vibrant pieces, and I bet she could paint something that reflects a love like yours.” Did the silence mean Edward didn’t like the idea? Jonathan scrambled to come up with anything else. “Or we could. . .”
“I like it. E-mail me examples. Bonnie loves color. The more the better.”
Jonathan exhaled. Glad to do it. I’ll stop by this afternoon. Hope there’s enough time to make this work if you like her style.”
“What’s the artist’s name?”
“Rachelle Stone.”
“I’ll Google her. See what I can find. Keep thinking in case this doesn’t work out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Edward’s rich laugh was back. “It’s Edward. Talk to you soon.
Jonathan stared at the phone a minute before replacing it on the cradle. Now he’d done it. He would have to see Alanna. But he’d give it some time. He had a pile of work to tackle on the Lyster wedding first. Beginning with calling the bride. He pulled out the Lyster binder and looked up Theresa’s number. He dialed and said a prayer for patience. The woman rode the emotional waves of wedding planning like an awkward first-time surfer.
The phone rang to the point he expected voice mail. At the last moment, he heard it click.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Lyster?”
“Yes?”
“This is Jonathan Covington.”
“Well, it’s about time. I’m driving to Mackinac right now.”
Jonathan glanced at his desk calendar. Yep, there it was in bright red letters: Theresa Lyster arrives. “It will be great to have you back here.”
“I don’t know how we’ll get everything done in time. The wedding is in four days, and there’s so much to do.”
“That’s where I come in. Remember you hired me to make this a special event without burdening you.”
“It’s a nice theory, but it’s still my wedding. My parents have invited all their hoity-toity friends, and it doesn’t feel like my day anymore.” She inhaled so deeply it sounded like she wanted to suck all the air out of her car and might stand on the verge of hyperventilating.
“Is anyone coming with you?”
“Rebecca Simpson, my maid of honor.”
Perfect. Someone to help anchor the bride while he did the work. “How about I set up a spa session at the Grand Hotel this afternoon for the two of you? I’ll make it right after tea so you can enjoy a relaxing afternoon. I’m checking in with the florist and caterer. Touched base with the party supply company yesterday, and they’re set. Everything is coming together great.”
“What will an afternoon like that cost?”
Jonathan stifled a chuckle at the thought. One didn’t get married on Mackinac Island without a certain disregard for costs. It wasn’t an easy place to reach, and everything had a price.
“Wait. Add it to Daddy’s tab. After all, he’s why I’m stressed.” He heard giggling in the background. Must be the maid of honor. “Come by when you get on the island, and I’ll take care of the details. You relax. Tomorrow we’ll cover what’s left.”
“All right, Jon. You’re a lifesaver. Maybe I’ll survive after all.”
As soon as Theresa hung up, Jonathan dialed Jaclyn. Instead of looking forward to the excuse to talk, he dreaded hearing her voice. If he’d needed any proof he had let things get out of control with Alanna, he had it. Jaclyn had started as his contact at the Grand Hotel’s spa but had grown to be a good friend. More than a friend when he was honest. Then there was Dylan, her two-year-old.
“Grand Hotel Spa.” Jaclyn’s voice held the professional tone of a busy manager.
“Hey, Jaclyn.”
“Jonathan.” Warmth crept into the word. Guess she’d forgiven him. “What’s up?”
He chitchatted a few moments then got back to business. “I need a couple massages for a bride and her maid of honor. I’d like them to start with tea and then come to you. Assign your best masseuse.”
“Sure, Jonathan. When do you need these?”
“Today.”
“Today?” She groaned. He heard the rustle of pages in the background. “I’m not sure I can do that. Not even for you.”
“This bride needs the special treatment, and I need the time to finish the work on her wedding.” He pictured her chewing on the end o
f her pen as she studied the calendar. How many times had he seen her do that?
The page flipped a few more times. “All right. If you send them up here for the final tea slot, I can squeeze them in with Analise and Nicole. But you’ll have to tip well since they’ll stay late.”
“No problem. It’s going on ‘Daddy’s’ account, and he can afford it.”
“You owe me dinner, too.”
It wouldn’t be the first time by a stretch. They always had a good time, but with Alanna back. . . Jonathan considered saying no. “You’re right. I’ve got the wedding Monday. . . .”
“Jonathan, we miss you. I’d almost believe you have someone else.”
Her words pierced him. “I’ll call later.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to you then.” Jaclyn hung up, and he hoped she didn’t take an eraser to the appointments.
One crisis averted. Now to plan the Standeford wedding proposal and then snap photos of Rachelle Stone’s art. Which meant seeing Alanna. Again.
11
The sun tried to poke through the cloud cover as Jonathan strode up Market Street toward the Painted Stone and Fort Mackinac. Just when he wanted to pull his jacket collar up to protect his neck from the cold, he’d step into a pool of sunshine and feel spring.
He whistled a flat tune as he ambled. He had too much to accomplish to walk slowly, but the thought of seeing Alanna held him back. He sidestepped another tourist as he approached the paned-glass front of the studio. It beckoned him, but he stood a moment checking for Alanna through the windows. The studio stood stark, nobody filling its space. The ridiculousness of his hesitation tensed his shoulders. He needed to get in there, get the information, and leave. If he hadn’t promised Edward photos, he’d have called.
Space, he needed space to clear the hold Alanna’s return had on him. He needed to get his head straight. Fast. If Rachelle Stone had created that web page like he’d suggested, he wouldn’t have to approach Alanna now.
His phone buzzed against his hip. He snagged it and glanced at the caller ID. Since he didn’t recognize the number, he let it slide over to voice mail and opened the door. The bells jangled their greeting. He winced. Alanna would round the corner in a minute then freeze when she saw him. Not the kind of reaction he liked to elicit in a woman, especially one he was attracted to. He strode to a painting. Maybe if he stood engrossed in one, he could miss her inevitable reaction.
Jonathan picked a painting that illustrated the view from Fort Mackinac down across Lake Huron to the lighthouses. The artist had painted the field of grass a vibrant green—the color of cucumbers. Roofs poked through the trees until gentle waves rocked the island with a rich blue the color of a blue jay’s feathers. Lower, the Round Island Lighthouse peeked from the bottom right-hand corner of the painting, looking like a squat, barn-red ice-cream cone topped with vanilla custard.
The painting held Mrs. Stones scrawled signature in the corner but didn’t look right. Jonathan studied it a moment but couldn’t peg what bothered him. He snapped a photo with his phone then turned to the next painting. This one was a winter scene, the storefronts bursting with color against the blinding white of snow- covered streets.
The click of heels ricocheted against the hardwood floor. “Jonathan?”
He kept his gaze on the painting as he snapped a photo of it.
“What are you doing?”
“I have a client who wants to commission a painting for his wife in honor of their fortieth anniversary.”
“Why take photos?”
He turned to look at her, noting the fine lines straining the edges of her eyes. “He liked your mom’s art. Since she doesn’t have a website, he asked me to take some photos to e-mail him. Can I have her current contact info?”
Her jaw worked, not the reaction he’d expected. Shouldn’t she show some excitement that he’d made the recommendation?
“I doubt she has time right now with all Dad’s problems.”
Jonathan slipped his phone in his pocket. “Shouldn’t she make that decision? After all, aren’t you here to keep the studio running?
And doesn’t that mean they need the income a commission like this could provide?”
The lines tightened as she frowned at him. “I don’t like it.”
“Okay. I don’t like these paintings.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re missing something.”
Alanna fisted her hands against her hips in a tight stance. “Excuse me?”
“They don’t quite fit Rachelle’s style.” The words sounded stupid as he said them.
Alanna felt heat flush her neck. It wasn’t from his presence. Couldn’t be.
Could her mom accept the commission? Even a few thousand dollars would help immensely. She watched Jonathan for a moment. He nosed closer to the painting until his schnoz almost touched the paint-layered canvas. He stepped back and squinted. He looked ridiculous, but she mimicked his motions. As she neared the layers of paint, she stilled.
That’s what bothered her.
Mom didn’t layer oils like she had in these paintings.
Sure, she liked to add a sense of texture, but these paintings seemed to have the oils caked. Maybe her style had evolved. It wasn’t like Alanna had paid tons of attention since she bolted from the island. College then law school and launching a career had absorbed her.
Mom had given her small paintings of her favorite spots on the island for the occasional birthday and Christmas presents. The lighthouses. A favorite cottage. Altogether it formed a nice collage of the area. But she hadn’t seen large paintings for a long time other than those at the cottage. Long enough for Mom’s technique to change and get heavier?
Alanna didn’t know, but she wouldn’t admit anything. “You’re ridiculous.”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but your mom’s one of the best artists around. My client has planned an anniversary weekend here for his wife. A painting that commemorates their love and the island is ideal.” He squinted at the painting then turned to her. “But I want her to paint. Not some knockoff.”
Alanna jolted at his tone. “How can you say that?”
“Because these aren’t your mom’s paintings. And I have proof.” He turned to the winter scene. “See here. . .” He pointed at Ste. Anne’s Church. “Rachelle would have ensured the stained-glass windows were accurate.”
“Maybe she wanted to do something different.” But she knew Jonathan was right. Her mom loved that church, always had. Mom had wanted to renew her vows there but changed her mind when Alanna refused to come. Remorse cloaked Alanna at her selfishness. She should have swallowed her anger and forced herself to return for one ceremony. She could have taken the ferry back as soon as the celebration ended. Instead, she’d claimed a case wouldn’t let her escape. She’d let her pride and fear hold her back.
Now that seemed ridiculous. After all, how many locals had hounded her the few days she’d been back?
“You with me?” Jonathan’s voice jerked her from her thoughts.
“You’re still wrong.”
“Nope, and I’ll find a way to prove it.”
She turned from the painting and felt pulled into his gaze. His eyes reflected his high intelligence. If she wasn’t careful, he would identify what was wrong with the painting. “What?”
“You know I’m tenacious.”
With everything but chasing her. How many mistaken relationships could she have avoided if he’d asked her to come back? “Most of the time.”
His eyebrow arched. “Really. Then I’ll show you how much it’s woven in the fabric of who I am.”
“Why waste your time on something so insignificant?”
“It’s not if I suggest a client buy a painting from your mother only to learn he didn’t get what he paid for.”
She tore her gaze from his and pivoted so her body angled toward the painting and away from him. Heat flushed her cheeks, but she prayed he didn’t notice. If he did, he’d know immediately that the po
ssibility bothered her, too.
“What about Jacklyn?”
He looked at her like she’d gone crazy. “What?”
“Don’t you have a child with her?”
Color flushed up his neck. “Seriously? You think that?”
The shrill ring of the phone pierced the space between them like a wonderful warning. She hurried toward the desk, her stomach twisting at his expression. “I’ve got to get that.”
Jonathan didn’t move. His stillness reminded her of an alert Doberman. Poised and ready to pounce but studying the surroundings first. Exactly what she didn’t need.
She had to call Mom and find out what was going on with those paintings.
The phone rang as she picked it up. “The Painted Stone.”
“Hello. This is Patience. Is this Alanna?”
Alanna’s heart sank at the sound of her mom’s best friend. She shouldn’t be surprised that Mrs. Matthews would eventually call.
“A little birdie told me you’d returned.” The voice held the warmth of someone welcoming the prodigal home.
Alanna rubbed at a knot of tension at her temple. “Arrived a few days ago.”
“And you haven’t called?” The woman clucked her tongue. “My dear child, I promised your mother I would keep an eye on you. Can’t do that if you never come by.”
Alanna couldn’t think of the last time she’d been called a child. She’d slipped that title off at least fifteen years earlier.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She sighed. “I’ve been busy keeping everything going.”
“For a successful attorney like you? I doubt the studio is the least challenge.”
Jonathan cleared his throat, and Alanna glanced his way. He pointed to his watch then the door. “I’ll be back.”
“All right.” They’d have to finish their conversation. But postponing it until after she talked to Mom provided a needed reprieve. She had to figure out what was going on. Shouldn’t be too difficult for someone who pieced together complex disputes.
