Something in her expression changed. She tilted her head in confusion and then righted herself.
“You’re obviously intuitive.” Against his better judgment, but not able to help himself, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
She gave him a weak smile. “I’ll be here.”
Baxter rushed back to the house to finish the consultation.
“That woman is amazing,” Gray said. “Is she single?”
“No, she’s not,” he lied. There was no way he would sit back and watch Gray Stratton woo his girl.
Chapter Nine
The trip to the studio was silent except for the hum of the air conditioner and the tapping of Baxter’s fingers on the steering wheel. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Thanks for including me. That was fun.”
The tapping stopped when the truck did. “You were amazing with the way you picked out his palette. Gray is really excited about the finish work.” His inhale was sharp and followed by a half growl. “Gray wants to know if you’re going to the Fourth of July concert in the park.”
“Are you going?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought. I should probably spend the day working. I’m already behind with my projects.”
Going anywhere without Baxter just seemed wrong. How had she grown so accustomed to his presence in a day?
“I get it. I should probably work too.” She opened the door. “Can you help me inside? I can take it from there, but I’m really lost without my cane.” She touched her forehead, remembering her first day of O and M training when she refused to use it and walked into a wall.
“You’re staying?”
“I still have to figure out what to do with the paintings. Theresa is expecting something.”
“That woman can piss off.” His agitation at her agent was plain to see and feel. “She abandoned you.”
“She did, but maybe it was for my own good.” She climbed out of the truck and stood with her hand on the hood.
It took Baxter another minute to exit and round the front to get her.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
He held her hand and led her to the door. “No, what would make you think that?”
“I can’t see, but I still feel those elephants in the room. Especially if they’re sitting in front of me. Something has changed and it bothers me.”
He cupped her cheek. “I don’t like seeing you mistreated.” His swallow was audible as if he were trying to gulp down a large stone. “I also wasn’t comfortable seeing the way Gray looked at you. He likes what he sees.”
She reached up and touched his cheek. Her fingertips moved over the stubble that roughened his jawline. “Are you big brothering me?”
“Maybe.” There was another hard swallow. “No, what I’m feeling for you is not brotherly.”
The wings of a thousand butterflies tickled her insides. It sounded like Baxter was jealous, and that brought her joy. After her vision faded, she thought her life was over—at least her romantic life. It wasn’t like she had a lot going on in that department to begin with because she didn’t get out much, and, when she did, she rarely connected with anyone since her life experiences were so different. All she knew was art, and most men couldn’t hold a conversation about Monet, Picasso, Van Gogh, or Warhol. They wanted to talk sports or politics, and when that failed, they wanted sex. But with Baxter, it was different, or maybe they hadn’t been in each other’s company long enough for it to be the same.
He stepped back and opened the door. “What do we have to do here?”
“I have to figure out what I’ll do with all these paintings. I have a lot of commitments, so I can’t avoid this for too long, or I’ll find myself in debtor’s prison.”
They walked down the hallway to her studio and flipped on the light switch. Occasionally, she saw light and shadow, and a trickle of the bright overhead lights reached her retina.
“Ahh, light.”
“You can see that?”
How did she explain that she thought she saw it? It was the same as the tree. There were moments where she was certain her eyes worked for a fraction of a second, but then the minute she opened them again, it was all darkness, just like now.
“I think my brain tries to tell me I’m seeing it. Since I was once a sighted person, there are a million images in my head, and they sometimes mimic real vision.”
She reached for the hook on the door and took her cane from her bag. “I’ll put the canvases together and see if I can hire someone to pack them up. Maybe a moving company would work. I can’t really afford one, but I can’t expect to be able to do this on my own.”
She tip-tapped her way to the center of the studio.
“No one would expect you to do any of this. Whatever you’ve got going on can wait until you’re ready to deal with it. Considering I found you in a puddle on the ground earlier today, I’d say you’re not ready.”
“Ready or not, I still owe the Albright’s thirty grand and Theresa ten Sosie Grant originals. I’ve got until the beginning of August to figure it out.”
“Great, that means you don’t have to tackle it today. How about another piece of pie?”
She wasn’t really in the mood to revisit her melancholia, and she wasn’t in the mood for pie. “Make it an ice cream, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Let’s go, Ms. Grant, Sam’s Scoops is only a short drive away.”
She grabbed her bag and walked out the door. What was another day?
“What about you? Shouldn’t you be working? You just said you were behind.”
“I did, but somehow pulling up old wood flooring pales compared to spending the afternoon eating ice cream with you.”
They were in the truck and on their way in no time. “Isn’t this the place that serves ice cream with disgusting names?”
“You pegged it. I’m wondering what they’ll have today. Definitely something with poop or snot.”
“Gross, the thought makes me want to hurl, and yet, I’m intrigued.”
“You can’t pass up on dino droppings or slugs and bugs.”
“Let’s talk about something else. Like you. Tell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell. I’m the son of a woman who abandoned her twins and a man who drank his life away. I’ve got a stepmother that might make Cinderella’s mom seem like a saint, although, since Riley made peace with her, she’s been more pleasant.”
“Parents are tough. Theresa is harping on mine all the time. She thinks my mom uses me. In fact, she’s convinced that the only value I hold to my mom and brother is my ability to pay for things, but I think she’s wrong.”
“Do you pay for things?”
She shrugged. “Some, like rehab for my brother, and I bought my mother’s house, but I wanted to do that. She had nothing left after my father left her.”
“Doc says that if you don’t need therapy by the time you’re an adult, your parents failed.”
“Well, then mine were a smashing success.” She played with a string hanging from the hem of her T-shirt. “Why construction?”
Baxter never answered questions without thought. He always waited a minute, like he was considering her question. She liked that about him. It was the sign of someone who was honest. Or maybe he was taking his time to think of a lie. She hated that she couldn’t see his eyes. Eyes were a window into the soul. Deep down, they always showed a person’s intentions.
“I like to use my hands. I think construction should be part of the arts, too, since it’s creative. Sure, it’s also mathematical and science based, but I don’t do that type of work. I get to do the icing on the cake stuff.”
“I can see that. When I was in that house, I saw everything finished. The floor and walls and countertops were installed, and it shined. I should have asked about the style of the house, but in all honesty, I don’t know the difference between a bungalow and a ranch home.”
The leather seat squeaked as he moved.
She imagined he sat up taller, the way she did when people talked about paints and canvases.
“Nowadays, people interchange the words, but they aren’t the same. A bungalow is small and efficient, whereas a rancher has more space. Generally, they are both single story, but, often ranch-style homes in Colorado have basements.”
Does Gray’s house have a basement?”
“No, his is a single level ranch. It’s on a nice chunk of land, so he has room to grow. The house is a green home meaning it’s solar-powered and leaves a tiny carbon footprint. The Cooper’s build houses from kits and can erect them in weeks.”
“That’s exciting. Is that the kind of house you have?”
He chuckled. “No, I have a money pit. My house is a bungalow. It’s a small two-bedroom, but I’ve got room to grow too because the lot is huge.”
“Planning for the eventual family?”
“I haven’t given that much thought. Like I said, I’m not all that good at looking after people.”
“Not true, you’ve been wonderful to me. I don’t know why you’d keep telling yourself you’re not good at caring for others.”
“Because it’s true. I um ... I should have been there when my sister was badly burned, and I should have been there when my father died in a sink full of dirty dishes.”
She couldn’t stop the sharp inhale because both were tragic events. “Those aren’t your fault. It seems to me your father should have taken care of both of you better.”
They drove over uneven ground and pulled to a stop.
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“It’s the only way you can look at it. He was the parent, and you were his responsibility.”
“True, and that’s part of the reason I resist relationships. What if I suck at it like my father did?”
She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over the center console to give him a hug. “You don’t suck at it.”
He remained stiff against her until she moved away. It was probably too much, too soon. She wasn’t one to show affection so easily, but Baxter was as comfortable as a plush blanket. He was soft and smelled good and easy to wrap herself up in. She would have to be careful, or she could fall in love with him.
“How about that ice cream you promised me?”
They walked side by side to the truck. Birdsong and children’s voices surrounded them, and the smell of damp soil mixed with waffle cones filled the air.
She bounced on the balls of her feet in anticipation. “What are my choices?”
Baxter wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her closer. For a man who wanted nothing to do with relationships, he seemed to always be pulling her in.
“Guts and Butts, which is chocolate ice cream with a cherry filling swirl. There’s also something called Caramel and Corns, and it’s basically pralines and cream. Or, there’s Unicorn Poop, which has colored marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles in vanilla ice cream.”
She gnawed on her lower lip deciding between option one and two. “Caramel and Corns, please.”
“I thought for sure you’d choose the Unicorn Poop.”
She hugged on to his arm and laid her head on his bulging bicep. “Why would I need a unicorn when I have you?”
He ordered, and she insisted on paying. Once they had their ice creams, they made their way to a table.
“Baxter?” A strange voice chimed in.
“Hey, Mercy, how are you?”
Sosie listened to the tone in the woman’s voice. It was soft, like a whisper.
“I’m better now that you’re here.”
He scooted in so that his thighs touched Sosie’s. No doubt, he was making room for the woman to sit next to him. Liking the feel of him next to her, she didn’t move. Who was this Mercy woman? She leaned forward and turned her head in the right direction—she hoped. “Hello, I’m Sosie.”
“Oh, are you here with Baxter?” There was a hint of disappointment in her voice.
Sosie played out the scene in her head. She could say no, which would technically be a lie because she was here with him. There was no way she could have arrived without him, but she was certain that wasn’t what Mercy was asking. She wanted to know if Sosie was with Baxter. Thinking about him with anyone else made it hard to swallow her ice cream.
“Yes, Baxter is mine.” She hardly recognized the possessive nature of her voice. “I mean, he’s my ride.” That put all kinds of thoughts and visions in her head. “I mean, he brought me for ice cream.”
“That’s so sweet.” There was a pause. “Are you the artist who comes on the weekends?”
“That’s me, but I haven’t been here since my eyes failed me.”
“That’s awful. What are you going to do?”
The truth was, she didn’t know.
“Sosie is helping me design the interiors of new homes. She has an eye for color.” Baxter laid his hand on her thigh.
It was such an intimate gesture. How was she supposed to respond?
“But how?” Mercy asked.
“She’s amazing; you should see her in action. She just designed Gray Stratton’s home on Lily Lane. I’m sure Red will want her input too.”
“Red?” Sosie asked. “Do they all have color names?”
“No, not Axel, his name was cool enough on its own.”
Baxter leaned in. “It’s really Alex. I imagine it’s like a pen name. That way, fans can’t find them when they’re looking for downtime.”
“Don’t count on it. I’ve already seen some teenagers camped out in front of his house.”
“But you live on Daisy Lane, and he’s on Rose, which is totally in the opposite direction. Are you one of his fans?”
Sosie imagined if she could see Mercy, her cheeks would be colored scarlet red.
“Yes, I’m a fan, but you won’t find me tucking my underwear in the chain links of his fence.”
“Underwear,” Sosie said out loud. “I need underwear.”
“For the fence?” Mercy asked.
“No, for me.” She covered Baxter’s hand with hers. “Would you mind stopping someplace close so I can get a few pairs?”
“Anything for you.”
“Ahh, you two are so sweet together.”
Baxter stood abruptly. “We’re not together.”
“Really?” Mercy said with an inflection that sounded like hope.
Sosie didn’t know what bothered her more, that they weren’t actually together, or that Mercy was trying to home in on someone Sosie wished was her man.
Chapter Ten
He begged for a quick death the entire time they were underwear shopping. Watching her fondle the thin strips of cotton and lace was torture. Now that they were home, it was worse thinking about which pair she had on.
“That smells amazing.” She padded down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Piper’s does a great job with takeout.” She moved next to him and breathed deeply. Her tongue slicked out as if to taste the air.
Why was it that his soap and shampoo smelled different on her hair and skin?
“I was thinking about your artwork.”
She put her hands on his waist and moved around him to the other side. Every cell in his body ignited.
“Do we have to talk about art, right now?”
He ignored his internal desire to grab her and kiss her because that wouldn’t serve anyone well.
“Yes.” He put several packets of parmesan cheese and red peppers in her hand and picked up the pizza. “Let’s eat in the living room. We can watch TV and talk.” He wanted to palm his forehead for his stupidity. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, it’s okay. I watch TV with my ears now. There’s a lot of shows I love.”
“Let me guess, The Bachelor or Gilmore Girls.” He moved with the pizza out of the kitchen and into the living room.
“No, I prefer stuff like Game of Thrones or Let’s Make a Deal, but Gilmore Girls doesn’t suck.” With her finger tucked into his belt loop, s
he followed him into the living room.
“Couch is at nine o’clock.”
“Thank you.” She reached out and touched the plush fabric before she sat down. “Is the couch blue?”
He stared down at her with what he knew was confusion. “How did you know?”
Plopping down on the cushion, she said, “It feels blue.”
“You are such a conundrum.”
“Don’t fret, I’ll be out of your way before you know it.”
“That’s the thing.” He opened the pizza box and handed her a slice. “I’m not troubled that you’re here.” The lie tasted sweet on his lips. It troubled him all right, but it wasn’t because she was an inconvenience. Not to his life, at least, but to his senses. She tweaked everything inside him that needed a woman. Not just any woman, but her. “Anyway, I thought maybe you might want to take a break from it all. Let’s take until after the Fourth of July to just breathe. Life has hit you with a lot at once, and it might be nice to have a few days where you don’t have to worry.”
She leaned in and shouldered him. “Ah, I think you like having me here.”
“What’s not to like? You cook a mean breakfast and clean dishes.”
“I’m sure Mercy would love to come over and cook for you.”
“Mercy? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, please. That woman has it bad for you.”
He folded his slice in half and took a bite. He hadn’t ever given Mercy much thought, even though she was pretty and sweet, she wasn't really his type. She was a nurturer, and he wasn’t used to having someone take care of him. He took care of himself and only himself—until Sosie. Taking care of her wasn’t as much of a problem as he originally thought, and it felt good, not scary or troublesome. It was right all the way to his marrow.
“I think you’re wrong. She’s a single woman, living in a town where men outnumber females three to one. She can have her pick, so why would she want me?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“One reason—I’ve got nothing to offer her. Besides, she not really my type.”
She nibbled on the crust. In fact, she bit around the perimeter of her pizza, keeping the slice in a triangular shape as she moved about it.
One Hundred Glances (An Aspen Cove Small Town Romance Book 14) Page 7
