Against the Wall (Stoddard Art School Series Book 3)

by Lisa A. Olech

  Were there lights in the point house?

  Chapter Two

  Kay woke and stretched beneath the snuggly warmth of the homespun quilt. The only sounds were the breeze whispering through the treetops and the regular cadence of the waves. She sighed. It had been the first decent sleep she’d had since…since the howler monkey incident.

  She shook her head and squeezed her eyes tight against the image burned into her mind’s eye. No, no, no. She wouldn’t let Todd ruin her peace. Not here.

  Downstairs, Kay rummaged through the kitchen’s near-empty cupboards. A dusty jar sat in a back corner. Thank you, God! Instant coffee! “I’m saved!”

  While the kettle did what kettles do, she jotted a short list of what she’d need to survive on her shoestring budget. Coffee had to be first on the list. Caffeine was an absolute essential.

  A dozen picture frames were number two. Dottie had agreed to take on some of her sketches. Not much income, but every little bit helped. When she went into town later for a few groceries, she’d swing over to the consignment shop and see about the frames. She’d stop by the copy store as well.

  Leafing through her things as she unpacked last night, she’d found six charcoal drawings that would make great gift cards sets. Copies, envelopes, and a little ribbon, and she’d be in business.

  She took a tentative sip of the coffee. Covered her mouth as she grimaced. Damn! It tasted like someone ran a dead brown crayon through hot water. Eeew! Could coffee go bad? Ick! She stuck out her tongue. Where was a Dunkins when you needed one! Dumping her mug into the sink, she underlined coffee on the list. Three times.

  After rinsing out the cup, Kay twisted her long hair into a loose knot and secured it with a clip. The beach was calling. Coffee would have to wait. She loaded a tote and grabbed a towel from the tiny hall closet.

  The wide deck running along the back and up one side of the cottage was cool, and moss edged beneath the tower of pine trees that guarded the house. Granite steps led through the thick underbrush. They were chilled and damp against her bare feet.

  Bleached white and tumbled by generations of surf, the beach stones were blinding as she stepped out into the morning’s sunshine. They warmed her chilled toes. She dropped her things and headed to the water’s edge. The constant pounding of waves crushed the beach into a coarse, wet sand. Kay dug her heels into the cool rasp. She sighed gazing out to where the sky and the sea blended into one. Gorgeous.

  From there the Atlantic stretched clear to Europe. Above, gulls dipped across a perfect blue sky and screeched at one another. Lifting her arms over her head, she reached for that perfect blue and stretched in the sunshine. The crisp bite of salt air filled her lungs.

  The morning tide was rising. Each wave reached a few inches closer until its icy fingers tickled Kay’s toes. She shivered. The water was frigid. This was Maine after all. Even in August, the water would numb her feet, and you didn’t stay in long. It took a brave soul—or a foolish one—to swim in the glacial temps in May.

  Kay moved back up the beach. The waves wouldn’t reach this far, and the pebbles were smooth, dry, and blissfully warm. She pulled the sketchpad out of her bag and bent to spread out her towel.

  The bark of a dog startled her, and she straightened. A large, black Labrador retriever barreled down the beach. He didn’t appear fierce as he raced straight toward her. He almost seemed to be smiling, if dogs indeed smiled. A large pink tongue lolled to one side of its mouth. Still, strange dog, tearing at her full speed. She yelped and held the towel in front of her like a baby-blue terrycloth matador’s cape.

  The dog stopped inches away, danced a bit, and then lowered its head to its front paws while leaving its butt waving in the air. Its entire body wagged. It gave a quick, low woof, snatched the towel from her grasp, and raced past.

  “Hey!”

  The dog stopped and assumed the same position as before—this time holding its prize just out of reach. When she stepped toward it, the dog leaped backward and shook her towel as it growled playfully.

  “You brat. Give that back.” Kay laughed.

  “Shadow! No! Drop it!” the dog’s human shouted as he chased up the beach. He was a big man, wide shoulders, strong legs. He wore a red plaid flannel shirt over a navy T-shirt, both untucked from the waist of dark jeans. Dark brown hair that curled slightly on the ends, morning scruff of a beard. He didn’t look threatening, still—strange man racing in her direction, and she’d already lost her protective cape.

  “I’m so sorry,” he huffed. “He bolted as soon as he saw you.” Holding up an empty collar and leash, he shook his head. “He’s a big goof. Won’t hurt you. He just wants to play.”

  “Tug o’ war?”

  “Yeah, we play tug a lot.” He motioned to the dog that crouched staring at them both expectantly. He gave a quick scan of the area. “If I grab it, he’ll pull and shred your towel.” The man walked a few feet, picked up a bit of driftwood, and held it aloft. “Good thing he’s easily distracted.” The quick flip of his eyebrows and the mischievous glint in his light brown eyes confirmed he was as goofy as his dog.

  Holding the stick high, he jerked it as if to throw it. The dog dropped the towel and froze. Eyes locked on the prized stick, its body a coiled spring waiting to launch in whichever direction the stick flew.

  “Get the stick.” The dog’s owner hurled the bit of driftwood backhanded down the beach. The dog took off like a bullet. Kay followed the impressive arc of the toss as Shadow’s owner snatched her towel off the stones.

  “Nice throw.” She reached for the towel from his outstretched hand. He was standing close enough to see that his eyes were more green than brown, and that beneath all that scruff, the man had a gentle cleft in his chin. Goofy wasn’t the right word to describe him either. Relaxed? Easy-going? Sexy as hell?

  “It’s got a little dog drool.” He didn’t let go. Did he mean to play tug too? “I could clean it and return it later.”

  “Not necessary.” When he released it, Kay stuffed the slobbered towel back into her bag as Shadow cheerfully dropped the stick at his owner’s feet.

  He picked it up and flung it away again. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he offered her his hand. “I’m Bear.” He jerked his head in the direction of the racing dog. “He’s Shadow. We’re out on the point.” He took her hand in his.

  His fingers engulfed hers. His hands were large and rough, but warm and gentle. Her lady parts whispered their approval. “You live on the point?”

  “Yep, I bought the place last winter. Been here since February.”

  “Not too many folks move to Maine in February.”

  He laughed and shrugged one shoulder. “Not the sane ones. Figured I might as well see what I was up against right off.” Shadow returned with the stick and gave a quick bark of impatience. “Good boy.” Bear ruffled the dog’s ear, gathered the stick, and threw it even farther. “Go get it.” He looked back at her. “Didn’t catch your name.”

  Kay watched the dog. “I didn’t throw it. Fetch isn’t really my game.” She collected the sketchpad and shoved it back into her bag. “Thanks for retrieving my towel, however.”

  “You’re not going to tell me who you are?”

  She shook her head and started back toward the stairs leading to the cottage.

  “What if I promise to keep Shadow on his leash from now on?” he called. “What would you say then?”

  She glanced back over one shoulder. Bear and Shadow stood watching. The dog dropped his stick and looked a bit disappointed. So did his owner.

  “I’d say, Good boy.”

  ****

  “These are wonderful.” Dottie perused the stack of greeting cards and prints while Kay set the table for dinner.

  “The cards came out great, didn’t they? Pete at The Copy Corral suggested using the same image in packs of six rather than a mixed set. Made sense. I’ll finish framing the rest of my stuff. You’ll have them by the weekend.”

  “The customers are goin
g to love these.”

  “Let’s hope,” Kay joked. “I’ve grown pretty fond of eating.” She slipped a polka dot napkin next to each dinner plate. “Speaking of which, everything smells incredible. I can’t tell you the last time I ate a home cooked meal.”

  “You know, if things are that tight for you—”

  “I’m not taking any of your money. It’s bad enough you’re not charging me commission on the things I’m putting in the shop.” Kay finished laying the silverware.

  “Maybe if you talked to your folks—”

  Kay snorted. “No.”

  “If they understood the situation, I’m sure—”

  “No.” Dottie wasn’t the only one who’d mastered the stare.

  “There’s no shame in—”

  “Dottie.” Kay took hold of her hands and held her gaze. “No.”

  “You’re a very stubborn young lady, do you know that?”

  “Yep. But you love me.” She kissed Dottie’s hands and found some candles to add to the table. Rummaging through the kitchen’s junk drawer, she unearthed a box of blue-tip matches.

  “Of course I love you, but I don’t see the difference between staying in their cottage and asking them for help.”

  Kay struck the match. The puff of smoke stung her nose as she lit each taper. “They know I come up here on vacation, so my vacation is a little bit longer this summer. I’m paying the water and electric direct, so it’s not like I’m sticking them with the bill.” She blew out the match and tossed it into the sink. “I’ve been the one keeping the place up, taking care of things. How many years has it been since they came here? They care about that cottage about as much as they care about me.”

  “That’s not true. They love you. If they knew you were struggling—”

  “They’d be the first ones to say, I told you so.”

  “Kay.” Dottie gave her that pitying look Kay hated.

  “You of all people know what they’re like.” Kay stopped herself from heading down that long, winding road filled with parental potholes. “I don’t want to talk about them anymore. I’m fine. Everything is fine. I’m here now. With you…and Walter.” She gave Dottie her brightest smile. “That makes everything perfect.” Kay stirred the gravy. “Speaking of Walter, where is he?”

  Dottie checked the clock. “I told him to be home by now. He’s no doubt making a pest out of himself at the inn.”

  “I saw all the construction going on over there earlier. Someone’s actually fixing up the old place?”

  “Sure ’nough. A nice fella bought the inn last winter. He stopped by the shop not too long after, asking Walt who he’d recommend hiring to do some of the work. Didn’t figure once he’d asked Walter for his opinion, he’d get such a buttinsky. The man has an opinion on just about everything, don’t ya know.”

  “Walter likes to help.”

  “At least him being over there keeps him out of my hair for a bit.” Dottie pulled a pie out of the oven, browned and bubbling, and set it aside to cool.

  Kay gasped. “You made me lucky pie?” Her mouth watered.

  “Sure did.”

  Dottie’s blueberry pie was legendary for making wishes come true. Kay requested it every year in place of a birthday cake. “But my birthday isn’t for weeks.”

  “Still had some blueberries in the freezer from last season. So you’ll get an extra wish this year.”

  “Sorry, I’m late, sorry, sorry.” Walter burst through the kitchen doorway and ducked as if he expected Dottie to take a swing at him. “I got chewing the fat with—”

  “I told you to be home a half hour ago.” Dottie fussed at him.

  He pulled a business card out of his breast pocket. “When ya hear what I got to tell ya, you’ll be happy I’m late.” He handed the card to Kay. “Have your ears been burning?”

  “What have you been up to now?” Dottie planted her hands on her hips.

  “Just singing Kay’s praises.”

  Kay read the warm, cream-colored card pinstriped with a gold border.

  BELL HARBOR INN

  Barrett Coulter, Owner

  Walter jabbed at the card with his finger. “He’s needin’ someone to paint a mural in the lobby. ‘I know a wicked good artist,’ I said. Told him all about that fancy school you’re going to. You were in town for the summer, too. He wants to meet with ya. I don’t know any of the particulars. We didn’t talk money, but he’s not cuttin’ any corners on fixing things up. Wait till ya see. Place is turnin’ out real nice.” He plucked a bit of pot roast off the serving platter and popped it into his mouth giving them both a smug look. “Now, it ain’t a definite, mind ya, but if ya stop in tomorra, ’bout two, he’d like to talk to ya.”

  “A mural job? That would be fantastic!” Kay hugged Walter around his middle and peeked over her shoulder at Dottie. “Can we eat our pie first? I think I know what I’ll wish for.”

  Chapter Three

  Kay dropped her cell phone into her purse. She’d happily let the damn thing die, but because Walter gave it to Mr. Coulter as a contact number, Kay charged it overnight. She found eight messages when she checked this morning. None from Coulter. Good. None from Todd. Even better. Eight from Madeline Sullivan, the art director from the Stoddard School of Art.

  Cell phone reception at the cottage was nonexistent, and the landline had been disconnected years ago. She’d wait until she returned to town to retrieve them.

  Eight messages from Madeline could only mean really, really good news…or really, really bad. She’d listen to them after her meeting.

  She ran nervous fingers through her hair as she walked up the sidewalk toward the Bell Harbor Inn. Switching her portfolio from one hand to the next, she brushed a bit of lint off her black sweater. She wanted this job. Who was she kidding, she needed this job. Sketch work was great, but her real passion was murals.

  Kay loved working large scale. There was something daring about standing in front of a blank wall with a brush full of paint in your hand. That first stroke. Color against white. It was like jumping into a deep pool and hitting cold water. Part exhilarating and part terrifying. But once in, she would begin to swim…or fly might be the better word. Filling the space. Creating just the right feel to match the room’s purpose. Color upon color. Layer upon layer. From the largest detail to the smallest until she’d filled the wall. Or the ceiling, or the floor, or all of the above.

  As Kay approached the hundred-year-old inn, she could see it was receiving a much-needed facelift. New windows, fresh paint, stunning new landscaping. It already looked 100% better than it had. Bright colors and a cheerful street presence made it feel welcoming. A newly painted sign glistened in the afternoon sun. Golden accents complemented the royal blue lettering on a rich cream background. New evergreen shrubs flanked each post. Accent gardens lay tilled and waiting next to the foundation and along the walkway.

  Up an impressive set of granite steps, a wide porch led visitors to tall doors wearing a fresh coat of matching royal blue. In true painted-lady style, accent colors of forest green and a touch of deep, rich purple highlighted the dentil moldings and gilded starburst pediments over each window.

  A screened porch swept off to the right encompassing the idyllic view of the harbor inlet. Kay could envision guests lounging out there with their glasses of wine to watch the lobster boats coming in after a long day of hauling their traps. Lovely. If this were any indication to the attention to detail inside, the inn would be spectacular.

  Before she could knock, a dog barked. Its nails clicked against the floorboards as it came around the corner. Kay recognized the sleek black dog with the goofy grin.

  “Shadow?” The dog danced at her feet. Kay laughed as she patted him. “Hey there, boy, what are you doing here? You didn’t run away from the beach, did you? I bet you’re helping with the gardening?” Giving a quick glance around, she expected to find Bear. “Where’s your handsome owner?” The dog’s tail thumped against the floorboards in reply. “I saw you
two out running the beach last night. You sure love racing through the water.”

  She’d first caught a glimpse of them from her studio window vantage point. The day had been warm, and Bear ran shirtless. Holy moly! The man’s shoulders went on for a week. A week and a half if you added the ink decorating the top of his left arm. He’d been too far away to make out the design. What could it be? Maybe a bear? Or a rose with Mom? Or the name of his girlfriend?

  She shook her head. Why was she even interested? She had more important things to do. Kay ruffled the dog’s ear before checking her watch. It was two. “Wish me luck, Shadow.”

  Kay tapped lightly on the door and entered. The smell of fresh paint and varnish was strong in the lobby. Ladders and tarps were the only decoration, but the space was impressive. Large marble tiles made up the floor with a compass rose pattern inlaid in cobalt blue gracing its center. A wide curving staircase swept up the left side. Its oak banister gleamed under a glossy new coat of finish.

  The sound of a saw filtered down from one of the upper floors. Muffled music drifted in from somewhere on the first floor. An antique oak desk peeked out from under a canvas tarp. One corner sat bare to hold notes, files, and what appeared to be architect’s drawings. Kay lifted a page to sneak a look.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Oh.” Kay spun around. Her heart kicked from zero to sixty at being caught.

  Bear stood, paintbrush in one hand, gallon can of polyurethane in the other. Damn! He was a mountain of a man. Bear suited him. Kay wasn’t tiny, but he towered over her. The broad shoulders she’d been dreaming…er, thinking about moments ago filled out the olive drab T-shirt. Its short sleeves looked painted on where they hugged his biceps. A sprinkling of dark hair along his strong forearms only accentuated the play of veins along those muscles. Double damn! Teddy Bear he wasn’t. He looked about a cuddly as a steamroller.

  “Hey, it’s beach girl.”

  “Bear.” She fought the urge to reach out and test the firmness of his arms. “I thought I might find you here.”