She needed to paint. Badly. It had become like a drug to her, a small space of time where she found surcease from once-solid ground washing away around her.
It had been three weeks. Since both Christmas and New Year’s had fallen on Thursdays, she’d had to miss two sessions. It was only Monday, and suddenly Thursday seemed eons away.
She had plenty to do, laundry, cleaning Christy’s room now that all her stuff was back in the dorm…these decorations that mocked her with visions of Christmases past, Christmases where she’d been safely wrapped in her illusions, too busy taking care of little children to see the gray world of her future.
She could set up her easel right here, paint for a few hours and still be finished with this packing up and some of the work that needed to be done.
But she didn’t want to work here. This wasn’t where her soul soared free, where inspiration stirred the air around her. Ellie thought of the key in her coin purse, the one she’d never used.
What would Saxon do if she came in on a different day? Or what if he were there, sleeping? A little shiver raced through her. No, she couldn’t think about Saxon in bed, his long, golden body naked and warm with sleep.
She leapt to her feet and started removing ornaments briskly, without her usual care. No, she simply needed to stay busy. Thursday would come, if she just kept herself occupied. She had plenty to do.
Dark despair had other plans, however, sweeping over her again like a wave, pulling at the sand beneath her feet. She dropped an ornament, and it shattered against the edge of the table beside her. Anger flared. She fought against the urge the throw the other one in her hand against the wall.
Inside her roiled a maelstrom of anger and duty and guilt and need, of confusion and a dry ache in her soul. Was this it? Was this her whole life, her future? Years upon years of letting go, of putting away not just decorations but her own needs, until her heart dried up like the parched needles of the Christmas tree?
What happened to Mother Ellie then? When she’d given everything inside her away? Who would she be then? A terrifying look down the corridor of the future showed a bent-over woman still tending a garden, listening to the too-loud ticking of a clock, waiting for her children’s infrequent visits to bring color back into her life.
She set the remaining ornament down and raced up the stairs to her bedroom, opening her handbag and removing the little green coin purse. A wink of gold greeted her. With shaking fingers, she removed the key to Saxon’s studio and held it in her palm, staring at it, letting it settle her.
He might not be there.
He might have someone with him. A female someone.
He might be angry if she came on any day but Thursday.
Ellie closed cold fingers around the metal as if it were the key to changing her future…that dreary, dried-up future that seemed so very possible.
She glanced at herself in the mirror over her bureau. She wasn’t any prize to look at right now, but she wasn’t going there to be seen. She was going there to paint, to let the passion of Saxon’s work seep into the cracks of her parched soul, to free up whatever passion was left in her.
To look for joy once again.
If Saxon said no, if he had someone there—darn the man, if only he had a phone. But she had to try. If he said no, she’d come back here, resume her ornament packing, get on with the thousand and one duties that made up her life.
But maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be there. Or he wouldn’t mind. She’d be very quiet; she wouldn’t bother him. He’d barely know she was there.
Please, Saxon. I need you. I need a friend.
With one quick swipe of a comb through her hair, Ellie left the room to grab her paints and save her life.
* * *
Ava glanced around as she entered the gym and rolled her eyes. Human nature was so predictable. The first week in January, the place was always packed to the gills with the repentant. By March, the numbers would be back to the faithful. She wondered how gym owners stood the aggravation—they probably planned for it, knew human nature well enough to forecast cash flow around the predictable loss of numbers—but it still had to be frustrating.
She spotted Laken lifting weights, chatting with someone next to her. When Ava recognized him, she smiled.
The god of six-pack abs. The young Adonis. She started toward them, then stopped in her tracks, watching Laken in the mirror.
There was something different about Laken, something that made her look almost…content? Laken? She looked again, staring hard. Yep. Laken was conversing with only friendly interest. Not a lascivious look in sight.
Ava’s face broke into a grin.
All right, Michael, she wanted to cheer. That glow, that inward smile was something entirely new. Something had happened over the holidays to soften the jagged edges of Laken Foster.
Whatever it was looked great on her.
Just then, Laken spotted her in the mirror and waved her over. Ava signed in quickly and headed across the floor.
“Hi, stranger.”
“Hi, Ava. You remember Milos, right?” Laken’s sense of mischief hadn’t vanished.
Ava shifted her glance to the young god, wishing she could be sure the heat she felt on her cheeks wasn’t visible. Damn Laken, anyhow. She smiled and nodded. “We haven’t been formally introduced, though. Hello, Milos. I’m Ava Sinclair.”
He set down the fifty-pound dumbbells he’d been using for bicep curls, holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ava. Laken tells me you’re going to be famous. Congratulations. In my country, writers are revered.”
She darted a quick glance at Laken, silently promising retribution. “Laken is a friend. She can be forgiven for her lack of objectivity. Where is your country?”
“Hungary.”
“Ah. What is your last name, Milos?” Why am I asking?
“Ilika. I grew up in Budapest.”
“The only European capital to emerge relatively unscathed after World War II. I’ve wanted to visit. I understand it’s gorgeous.”
He seemed pleased. “Yes. It is beautiful, but I am a Texan now.”
His accent was pretty gorgeous, too. “It must be a shock to your system.”
“Oh, but Austin is unique. The University attracts people from all over the world, so this is a fascinating blend of true Texas flavor and a most cosmopolitan feeling.”
“Are you a graduate student?”
“Do I look so young? No, I teach physics.”
She couldn’t help her double-take. “Yes, you do look that young.” She laughed at herself. “At my age, many people look young.”
His eyes reprimanded her. “You look no older than myself. I am thirty.”
Ava laughed out loud. “Oh, Milos. You’re good for my ego.” But she found herself unwilling to admit she was old enough to be his mother. A very young mother, but still…
He shrugged. “What I say is only the truth. Older women are more fascinating than the young ones, anyway. In my culture, we are less, how you say, hung up on youth?”
“That’s a wonderful viewpoint.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Laken staring into space and decided it was time for some questions. “If you’ll excuse us, Milos, I need Laken’s help in the dressing room.”
“But of course.” He nodded. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Ava. May I call you Ava?”
“Sure. Same here.”
“I will watch your career with interest. Perhaps we can have coffee sometime. I would like to learn more about your writing.”
But already distracted by Laken, Ava only nodded and murmured vaguely. “Maybe we can. Goodbye, Milos.” She grasped Laken’s arm. “Come on.”
Laken shook out of her reverie. “What?”
“I said I need your help in the dressing room. Say goodbye to Milos.”
“Goodbye, Milos.” Laken let herself be lead from the bench.
Once inside, Ava glanced around to be sure they were alone. “Okay, give. What’s going on?�
�
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the sappy grin on your face, the dreamy look in the eyes. What’s up?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ava laughed. “Sure you don’t. It’s Michael, isn’t it? You’ve gone and fallen for him.”
Laken shot her a wary glance. “Who have you been talking to?”
“No one. I don’t need to. It’s all over you. And it looks good, Laken. I’ve never seen you soft and happy.”
To her surprise, Laken’s contented air vanished in a flash, replaced by misery. “I don’t want this.” She scowled. “He’s only temporary.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Posturing. Ellie says he’s a good man. Why are you second-guessing this? Enjoy it.” Ava leaned in. “On a scale of one to ten…?”
For once Laken didn’t bite. Instead her shoulders sagged. “Four thousand. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll screw it up.” She wheeled and walked to the shower, stripping.
“Laken…”
“Don’t, Ava. Please.”
Ava badly wanted to dig, to force Laken to talk.
But her friend stepped into the shower and ended her chance.
Leaving Ava pondering.
* * *
Ellie carried her tackle box down the block toward Saxon’s studio. The day was one of the blessings of Central Texas—January might be the coldest month, but that never ruled out seventy-degree days. Today looked to be one of them, crisp and clear, hardly a cloud in the sky.
In front of Saxon’s studio door, she stopped, wondering what she was doing here. He might be busy. He might be really angry that she was interrupting him. She hoped not.
But it’s her mother who’s special. Saxon’s words popped into Ellie’s brain. The look he’d given her.
What would he think, her coming here like this?
For a moment, she almost turned and ran. No. I need this. I need this refuge. I need Saxon’s vision of who I can be.
She’d just be quiet and stay out of his way. Heart pounding, Ellie lifted her hand and knocked. And waited.
Nothing.
She pounded this time, though she couldn’t detect music inside, so he should be able to hear her.
Still nothing.
You might need to let yourself in next time.
Who knew where Saxon spent his days? He accounted to no one. For all she knew, he was out of town. And he had given her a key. Maybe he wanted to be free of needing to be here so she could paint.
All right, Ellie. Quit being such a timid mouse. Use the key.
She sucked in a steadying breath and took the key from her purse. Before she could lose her nerve, she used it, letting herself into a silence so complete, her nerves settled a bit. She didn’t have to have Saxon here; she only needed to paint. Maybe it was better that he wasn’t.
But he also slept late, she thought, being a true night owl. So before she stepped any further into the space, she called out, “Saxon? Are you here?”
A muttered grunt. A rustle of sheets. Oh, dear. Did she go or did she stay?
Ellie swallowed hard. “I—I know it’s not Thursday. I just needed to paint. I’ll be real quiet. Or I—I can go. Do you want me to go, Saxon?”
Tousled blond hair greeted her first, then his bare chest rising above the edge of the loft. His waist was bare, too, and Ellie quickly averted her eyes as she realized he was likely naked.
“Ellie?” His voice was thick with sleep. “Are you all right?”
She glanced back quickly. Saw him pulling up a pair of jeans. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I was just—it’s been three weeks and I needed—”
“Saxon, honey?” Another voice. A sultry one.
Ellie froze.
Long, tousled blonde hair over a face that could only be called gorgeous. The woman’s head appeared above the edge of the loft and glanced down at her, frown lines appearing between the eyes of a woman as stunning as Saxon himself. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, golly, Saxon, I’m—I’m so—” Ellie turned and ran outside.
Before the studio door closed completely, she heard Saxon’s voice, “Ellie, wait—”
She scooted down the sidewalk as fast as she could go, her heart thumping, her mind stuttering with acute embarrassment, with anger at herself for not crediting that Saxon had his own life, that he was a beautifully-made man who could have any woman he wanted. With anger at Saxon for refusing to have a stupid telephone.
The key burned her palm, and she wanted nothing more than to throw it to the ground, but would good old, reliable Ellie ever do such a thing? Leave a key where anyone could find it?
She’d mail it to him. She’d never be back, anyway. How could she face him, after this?
That was the last part of the mélange swirling inside her: sorrow. She’d lost her refuge. Her future. She’d never dare try this again. After Saxon, she couldn’t imagine anyone inspiring her in the same—
A large hand grabbed her arm. “Ellie, damn it, I asked you to stop.” Saxon stood before her, barefoot, bare-chested, hair a wild halo about his face.
“Let me go. I said I’m sorry, Saxon. Here—” She stuck out the key. “I won’t be back.”
“No.” He refused to take it. “I don’t want it.”
“I’ll never use it again.”
“Ellie…” his voice gentle, chagrined. “I’m sorry. She’s—she’s just a friend.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I had no right to let myself in.”
“I gave you that right. Ellie, what’s wrong?”
She laughed, a short bark tinged with bitterness. “Besides the fact that I made a fool of myself, interrupting you in bed with a gorgeous woman?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. “She’s not important. You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”
“Why won’t you get a phone?” she cried. “I could have called first, saved myself this embarrassment.”
“I don’t want a damn phone.”
“Then take your stupid key. I won’t need it. I won’t be back.”
He gave her arms a quick squeeze. “What happened to that courage you were showing me? You’d let this little incident come between you and your painting?” His eyes chided her, his tone a mixture of gentle reproof and teasing. “Come on, Ellie. You’re made of sterner stuff than that. Now tell me what’s going on. What brought you here today?”
She shook her head, staring at the ground. “I just—I looked at my life and knew I couldn’t spend the rest of it doing housework and putting away Christmas decorations and having children leave me. I mean—” she stuttered slightly, “I love my children and I love my house, and it used to be enough, but—”
His hands slid up to cup her face. His hands were large and warm, and her whole body seemed to feel them. Saxon tilted her head up until she looked at him. “Loving your family doesn’t mean you have to give up painting.”
“I could paint at my house.”
His blue eyes were the softest she’d ever seen them. “But you won’t. You won’t stretch to become someone new there.”
“I shouldn’t need to become someone new.” She wanted to close her eyes and soak in the feel of his hands. “I love my family. I love my husband.”
“You do.” He nodded gravely. “Anyone can see that.”
“So why do I need more, Saxon?”
“Does it matter? You do, that’s all. And you can have it here.” His gaze intent upon hers, he nodded his head toward his studio. She stilled the treacherous leap of a heart that flirted, for a foolish second, with the idea that he meant more than painting. “Don’t throw away your gift, Ellie. There won’t be anyone else here again, I promise. Keep the key and use it when you need it.”
“I can’t ask you to give up your social life.”
“You didn’t ask.” A quick smile, hi
s hands dropping away. “And I don’t like bringing women to my studio, anyway. She was only modeling for me, and it got late and we—” He shrugged, faint color staining his cheeks.
Saxon? Blushing?
“You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” His voice grew very serious. “But if you don’t have enough respect for your talent, I do. I can’t let you stop painting, Ellie, not over something meaningless.”
She glanced toward the studio door. “Would she say it was?” Lesson to the wise, Ellie Preston. Saxon Gaillard is only true to his art. Not that she’d ever be a candidate for anything else, anyway. Or even wanted to be.
“Yeah,” Saxon smiled. “She would.”
That smile. When Saxon unleashed the rare phenomenon, it was a sight to behold. Ellie smiled back. Then they simply stood there in a silence both comfortable and filled with an undercurrent Ellie was sure only she felt.
“Come back inside and paint.”
She laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll send her home.”
“No, Saxon.” She turned toward her car door.
“You’ll be here Thursday? Or before, if you need to paint?”
She glanced back at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Shaking her head, she chuckled. “Not before Thursday, that’s for sure. You really should take this key back.”
Saxon folded his arms across his chest, hands tucked beneath them. “Uh-uh. I don’t want it back. I want you to use it when you need it. Even if it’s not on Thursdays.”
Ellie didn’t answer. Opening her door, she set the tackle box on the seat next to her and got into the SUV. Closing the door, she stuck the key in and turned it on, rolling down the window.
“You’re so tiny, to be driving this monster.”
She shrugged. “It carries everything a mother of five could possibly need.”
“Ellie.” Saxon leaned his arms on the window frame, voice lowered, tone intense. “Come back. Please.” A vulnerability she’d never seen shadowed his eyes.
She met his gaze for a long, searching moment, breath suspended in her throat. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she said honestly. “This is crazy.”
He didn’t touch her again, but she could feel him as surely as if he had.
The Book Babes Boxed Set (Texas Ties/Texas Troubles/Texas Together) Page 17
