by Janet Eaves
The sidewalks in Legend were generally rolled up around nine o’clock, and even the stragglers had left by ten after.
“How wonderful!” She faced him in the brightly lit gallery and grabbed both his hands. “Greg, how wonderful! Did you invite people here tonight?”
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t have to invite people in Legend. I think they just know when to show up. Sorry if I upstaged your art with my amazingly virile costume.”
She squeezed his hands then took a step back. Embarrassed? “You’re a terrific pirate, by the way.”
“Not much of a stretch, really. I pretty much am a pirate. Haven’t you always thought so?”
She laughed. “A little bit, I guess. You sure do things your way without mincing any words. It works for you.”
“You’d make a great pirate wench, Chloe. Not sure I could control myself if you walked down those stairs wearing a long full skirt with a slit and a buxom wench blouse. You need that get-up if you don’t have one. Wouldn’t it be great to do this again at Halloween?”
“It would be fun. Not sure I’m buxom wench material though.” She ran a hand through her short hair. “Oh, wow. I just remembered what Martin said. I still have bed head and no makeup, the entire town has seen me this way, and the day is nearly over. Good grief.”
“You look great that way. You don’t need makeup. And I meant what I said to Martin about the bed head.” He grazed her cheek with his fingertips. “I totally meant that. Mmm…”
Chloe felt her eyes glaze over as her body betrayed her, reacting to the delicious sensation of Greg’s work-roughened fingertips on her skin. All her nerve endings were on alert, wanting more. Oh, to reach out and treat her hands to the feel of his golden torso through the gapping front of the white pirate shirt. Just one touch wouldn’t hurt, surely. Just one little touch…
“Do it, Chloe.”
“I can’t. I’m…”
He stepped even closer. Just a few inches separated them now. “Yes? You’re what?” His breath was in her hair.
“I’m…not sure of you. I don’t know you.”
“You know everything about me. I’m a pretty uncomplicated guy. If it helps, I’m sure of you.” He ran one finger around the curve of her ear, fiddled with the diamond stud. “Very sure.” He leaned down and softly kissed her ear. It was delicious and so gentle.
Completely without intending to, she leaned into him, so the touch was deeper. Greg ran his tongue along the curve, darted it in and out of her ear, and she was lost. She caught her breath and put her arms around his neck. His mouth was immediately on hers, and she was so ready for him. Timidity wasn’t something Chloe was guilty of, in any facet of her life. She met his thrusting tongue with her own and rejoiced in the feeling of oneness. His strength was her strength; his beautiful and willing body was hers to do with as she chose. This was a man she hadn’t even known a month ago, a man she could barely tolerate two weeks ago, and at this moment, she felt like ripping his clothes off and making love on the brand new floor.
What? This can’t be happening!
Chloe dropped her arms and pulled back, stepped away. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her shaking, but it must be obvious.
“Greg,” she whispered. “I can’t.” She cleared her throat and began again, voice stronger. “I can’t let myself. I—I want you. Of course you know that. I practically jumped on you…”
“God, I wish you would.” His voice was thick. “Hey,” he stepped closer, but she backed up at the same time. “What’s up? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Absolutely nothing! I just really need to breathe. Think about this. Maybe I’m a little crazy right now with the gallery opening tomorrow, and the pirate outfit, and, you know, that tongue-in-the-ear thing.”
He grinned. “You liked that, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.” She touched a hand to her diamond. “I wonder if your tongue ought to be registered as a deadly weapon or something.”
“Or something, maybe. And baby, that’s just the preliminaries. I want to show you the rest. I want to make you feel so good.”
“Stop! Just stop talking, okay?” She turned away, arms crossed over her chest. “I can’t do this right now. Have this conversation, think these thoughts, kiss you. Tomorrow is the day.”
His face changed completely. “Right. Tomorrow is the big opening day with all your important artsy-fartsy buds from the city coming down here. So you don’t have time to spend with somebody like me. Somebody who isn’t important.” He pinned her with a glare. “I’m not in your league, am I, Chloe? It’s bad enough that you’re a McClain in Legend. I can almost handle that, but this art crowd, no doubt they’re way superior to a simple carpenter.” He turned, his blonde braid swinging, and headed for the door, where he stopped and faced her again. “Sorry I forgot my place there for a minute. I’m just the hired help. Got it.”
And Greg Andrews had left the building.
Chapter Nine
No wonder I don’t have a man in my life. I don’t know what to do with one. Chloe blamed herself completely for the situation. She’d been enjoying Greg’s company lately, his teasing, and yes, those preliminaries he referred to were pretty darned enjoyable too. But she didn’t know him well enough to spend the night with him. Wasn’t sure she ever would know him that well. She figured in his mind she was the nearest available female, practically thrown into his lap, so why not go for it? That wasn’t enough for Chloe. She wanted a man she could count on. Sex wasn’t just recreation for her. She needed a relationship, and she remembered again the early conversations with Greg in which it was so painfully obvious that his view was just the opposite. How she had let herself get to the point in which her tongue was in Greg’s mouth… Well, she didn’t want to think about that lapse in judgment. Couldn’t spend time on it now. She still had preparations to complete for tomorrow.
Around two a.m. Chloe stood in the center of her amazing gallery. She had cleaned candy-smear fingerprints off the Plexiglas display case, swept and mopped the floor, and set the finishing touches just where she knew they’d be perfect. She’d prepared the back room to be a makeshift kitchen and staging area for those who would be serving refreshments at tomorrow night’s opening. She looked around, appreciating the beauty surrounding her—the beloved Smokey Mountains painted from so many angles, at so many times of the day, times of the year. Every nuance explored and appreciated. Little Legend with its darling buildings and sweet little people. The track lighting that showed it all to perfection.
And suddenly it seemed a hollow victory to have accomplished this feat in the short time allotted. Suddenly all she could think of was the fact that she had been less than gracious to the workmen who had made her dream come true. Some of them had been here tonight with their families, and everyone had seemed as enthusiastic about the place as Chloe felt. As enthusiastic as she thought they should be.
Greg was right, wasn’t he? Chloe McClain was a bit of a snob, spoiled and self-important. Without even realizing her motivation, she had set the show in Legend for her own aggrandizement. The Little Legend was ego too, and a good counselor would probably also say it meant she had a less than realistic view of the town. Her hometown wasn’t perfect. Not only were some of the buildings in poor repair—of course she hadn’t created those particular buildings for her display—but deeper than that, there were problems in Legend. Like how to stop the constant loss of bright kids who did well in high school, went on to college, and eventually did important things anywhere but Legend. It was a great little town, but even with recent improvements, it still needed work. The kind of work Greg Andrews did, renovating buildings that had fallen into disrepair. Plus, he employed several local guys who would otherwise have to drive to the city for jobs. It wasn’t glorious, and Greg wasn’t famous, but his business was invaluable to a place like Legend.
Not like an art gallery. No little town needed an art gallery. What had she been thinking? She’d sold
her beloved cabin, gone into further debt for something that would probably bomb and bomb big.
What had she said to Greg that day when she accused him of wanting to be Samson? She’d said Samson had developed a huge ego. Well, now that she thought about it, the ego problem around here was Chloe’s. However, he was wrong about one thing. She hadn’t stopped kissing him because of her ego. She hadn’t stopped because she thought he wasn’t good enough.
Or had she?
****
On opening day, Chloe felt like throwing up. She was so nervous she was literally sick to her stomach.
“Dear, just do something normal. Something mundane. It’ll keep you busy ‘til it’s time.”
Midnight was right, sort of. It helped to be busy, and it was nice to put her clothes into the closet and set up her kitchen and to finally make her bed after sleeping on a bare mattress for two nights, waking up tangled in the comforter. Everything downstairs was in readiness until the food arrived, so she could concentrate on nesting. The problem was, at about two o’clock this morning she’d begun to regret the whole thing, nest and all.
Chloe considered calling Greg to apologize, but wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t even sure she was sorry. She didn’t want to talk again about what he had said, hear the things that were too close to true.
Because of their conversation, instead of being excited about the opening, she was dreading it. She couldn’t let that show, of course. Everyone in Legend knew how self-assured Chloe had always been. She was a McClain, after all, and McClains never second-guessed themselves. No matter how much people might have wondered or muttered behind her back about the possible craziness of an art gallery of all things on Legend’s Main Street—no matter how much they’d talked, they would never expect Chloe to wimp out. Everyone would expect her to forge ahead with her plans, even if it did seem nutty. And they would expect her to succeed.
When she could put it off no longer, late in the afternoon she showered again and dressed for the opening. She had bought the outfit a couple of years ago for a trip to New York City and had only worn it the one time. Slim slacks in bronze silk and a matching fitted top with three-quarter sleeves and sequins at the plunging neckline. She sincerely hoped she could get through the evening without falling off the strappy stiletto heels. Worst case scenario—if she fell off the heels, everything would pour out of the plunging neckline. She did her makeup to perfection and chose some vintage clip earrings with big bronze and gold “gems” interspersed with tiny rhinestones. Her hair was smooth and shiny, and she gave her reflection a less than convincing smile of reassurance before turning off the bathroom light and heading downstairs.
Chloe’s mother, Sharon, and her aunts, Dorothy and Marie, had prepared the finger food in Dorothy’s big kitchen. Her cousins Janelle, Maureen, and Anna would serve it along with Dorothy’s famous champagne punch. Midnight would be on hand to keep an eye on the gallery and let someone know if she saw a customer who looked hungry or thirsty or like they wanted to make a purchase. Likely, a few other McClains would stop in to make themselves useful. The McClain Art Gallery would definitely live up to its name tonight.
Chloe opened the back door and in swarmed Janelle, Maureen, and Anna carrying cardboard boxes and plastic containers.
“Need some help with the unloading?”
“Are you kidding? Honey, in that get-up you look way too good to be carting food from a van to the back door of somebody’s store. Leave this work to the peons.” Janelle flipped her thick dark ponytail as she turned and made another trip to the van.
Chloe knew Janelle had been teasing, but the remark hit home anyway. Who was she to have her cousins doing work for her? They weren’t even getting paid!
“You guys are working awfully hard…”
“Heck yeah, we’re working hard! We’ve got a stake in this project, Chlo. Everybody wants to see you succeed.” Anna trooped past her with one of Dorothy’s cut-glass punch bowls.
Maureen came behind her with the second punch bowl. Instead of walking by, she stopped and looked into Chloe’s eyes. “Hey, cuz. What’s wrong? Opening night jitters?”
“Sort of, I guess.”
“Wow! I never thought anything made you nervous. This is big though. You have a lot invested here in more ways than one.”
“Exactly.” Chloe swallowed.
“Oh, sweetie. You’ll be fine. The place is gorgeous.” She swept another glance around. “Chloe, people are going to love it! Before we get going in the kitchen, I think there’s something important your girl cousins need to take care of.” She set the punch bowl on the floor. “Janelle! Anna! Group hug!”
In a moment Chloe was swept into an embrace with the three cousins she had grown up with. She loved Betsy and Midnight, but these three shared a history with her that was like no other relationship. The hug lasted just a moment, but Chloe felt strengthened and energized by it.
“Soul sisters.” They all said in unison and giggled as they stepped back, holding hands in a circle. It was the way they’d begun to refer to each other back in elementary days when they’d considered doing some kind of blood brother type ceremony to show how committed they were to each other. It had been Maureen who pointed out they could skip the knife. They didn’t need to mingle their blood—it was already that way. Maureen and Janelle were sisters, but Anna and Chloe were the only girls in their respective branches of the McClain family tree. Cousins, but as close as sisters.
“I love you girls!” Chloe exclaimed.
Maureen bent down and retrieved the antique punch bowl. “Of course you do. We’re awesome. Right, ladies?” The other two agreed, laughing, and continued preparations in the makeshift kitchen.
Chloe went to the doorway and leaned on it, watching their deft hands setting out the serving pieces, putting things in the big old second-hand fridge, organizing the staging area.
“You really are awesome, and I’m so glad you’re here. Thanks for what you’ve already done, and for being with me tonight.”
Maureen winked. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Who knows, one of us might meet some rich city guy and get swept off our feet, crazy in love.” She frowned and shrugged. “Could happen.”
“Hey,” Anna interrupted. “Why just one of us? Maybe all three of us could get swept.”
Chloe smiled. “Why not all four of us?”
Her cousins stopped and looked at her. Maureen shook her head. “Sorry, sister. Word on the street is that you’ve already been swept.”
“Huh?”
“Please. Don’t try to fool us. We know your soul, remember? Greg Andrews has it bad for you, and you have it for him. It’s just a matter of time before you’re walking down the aisle with that blonde Adonis. What gorgeous babies you two are going to make!”
“Maureen! We’re not even—you know—together. Babies? And Greg is a confirmed bachelor. Have you ever heard the way he talks about women?”
“Chloe. Honey. Have you ever seen the way he looks at you? The man is completely under your spell.”
Chloe shook her head. “He wants me, but that’s just a physical thing.”
“You’ll definitely stop that kind of thinking when he sees your outfit.” Anna rolled her eyes.
“This isn’t for Greg. I planned all along to wear this. I got it—”
“We know,” said Maureen. “You got it when you went to New York that time. It’s great on you, Chloe. Perfect for tonight.” She glared at Anna. “We all know you’re not running after Greg. None of us thinks that.”
“Well then. Good.”
Maureen turned to open a bottle of champagne. “There’s no running involved. The man is already caught in a trap he can’t see.”
“I didn’t trap him!”
“Oh, but you did. Unintentionally, but still. His leg is caught, and unless he’s going to gnaw it off to get loose, you’ve got him.”
“Such a pretty picture. Thanks for that,” said Anna, wrinkling her nose.
�
��Some men will.”
“Gnaw their leg off?” asked Janelle.
“Whatever it takes to get loose. Once they realize they love a woman, if they can’t get their heads around the idea of a long-term relationship, they bail out in whatever way possible. Cut and run. You get my meaning.”
“Vividly. I’m still back at the leg-gnawing,” said Chloe.
Maureen sighed. “A confirmed bachelor will do what it takes to convince himself he’s not really in love. He’ll do what it takes to get away from the woman too. Maybe something as drastic as leaving town.”
Chloe’s face grew hot. “Greg couldn’t do that. He has a business here. He’s invested in the community. Legend needs him.”
“Hm. Legend needs him, huh? We’ll see what he does. Stay or run for his life. My money is on stay. It’s also on gorgeous blonde babies. Can I get an amen?”
Anna and Janelle each raised a hand and said “Amen,” without skipping a beat in their work.
Chloe was worn out with it. Crazy girl cousins. She left them to their silliness and wandered through the gallery looking for something to straighten or dust, but there wasn’t anything.
Midnight walked in the front door. “How are you doing?” Putting her hands on Chloe’s shoulders, she looked deep into her eyes. “Oh dear, you’re doubting yourself. Stop that! It’s going to be a wonderful opening, Chloe. We’ve got the promotion out to all the right places, people who know the right people have been talking about it for weeks. I even saw something about it in a Google alert yesterday.
“Google alert?”
“Sure. I have alerts set to send me links when something is mentioned on the internet about The Emporium and Legend. I just follow a few key words. The Legend, Tennessee alert was triggered by some art critic’s blog post. And don’t go nuts because I said ‘critic.’ His post was quite enthusiastic. Sounded like he would definitely be here.”
