Fortune's Family Secrets

by Karen Rose Smith

  After she finished a stroke on the canvas, she dipped her brush into a jar and left it there. Before he asked about the kiss, he approached with a mundane question. “Relaxing?”

  She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. “I’m trying to.”

  He didn’t know if there was an underlying message in that response, but he reacted as if there was. “I suppose my being up here isn’t helping that.”

  She turned on her stool to face him. She was wearing a bright blue Oxford shirt that came to her knees. The long sleeves were rolled up. He knew it was supposed to be a smock to protect her clothes from the paint, but she looked damn sexy.

  Instead of getting to the subject he came up to discuss, he looked around at the paintings again. “Have you shown your work in any galleries?”

  She stood and came over to him. “Not lately. I applied for the Art Alliance Showing at the Palmer Center this weekend, but I was turned down.”

  That astonished him. “Turned down? That doesn’t seem possible.”

  He studied her face as she struggled to explain and be fair at the same time. “Artists from all over the country enter their work. I’m not sure how they decide exactly. As with most artistic work, opinions are subjective.”

  He waved his arm over the attic. “Do you have photos of all these?”

  “Some of them.”

  “You should take photos of all of them and put an extensive portfolio together.”

  After she hesitated a few moments, she revealed, “A few years ago I won a contest. After the fact, one of the judges bought three of my paintings at the exorbitant prices that my agent suggested. I sold two more to an art patron from the gallery where the paintings were displayed. Those sales were enough for a down payment on the B&B. I never would have been able to get started without that. But since I’ve run the B&B, I cut ties with my agent. I haven’t had time to promote my work or even set up a website. It’s always which thing on the to-do list takes priority, and this is never it because it’s so hit-and-miss.”

  “You know that’s the first time you’ve told me anything about your past.” He couldn’t help but wonder about it. He’d shared his and hoped she’d open up with him.

  She didn’t respond to his statement. Rather she asked, “Why did you come up here, Nash?”

  As he expected, she was forthright. “I thought maybe we should talk about that kiss. It’s going to be difficult to ignore. I’ll be here another three weeks and I didn’t want our interaction to be awkward.”

  Her eyes were studying him as if she were searching for the truth. “It doesn’t have to be awkward between us. We just go on from here.”

  “And forget the sizzle we feel every time we’re in the same room?” he questioned with a raised brow.

  “We have to,” she reminded him. “You’re going back to Mississippi. What would be the point in...anything happening?”

  Just as he thought. She didn’t indulge in flings. Neither did he. Nevertheless, a fling right now seemed just the ticket to forget what he was doing. Just the ticket to distract himself from the Fortunes. And to bring pleasure to them both.

  They were standing close enough that he caught Cassie’s scent. It was flowery and drew him toward her. He leaned a little closer and so did she.

  But then he shook his head. “If we don’t want that kiss to happen again, I’d better go downstairs. You can go back to relaxing and painting.”

  She didn’t protest or ask him to stay, so he knew she wanted him to go. After he crossed to the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder at her. She was still watching him. She turned away first and he continued down to the second floor.

  Once in his room, he went straight for his laptop. Pulling out the chair, he settled in at the small desk. This time he wasn’t searching for the Fortune name. He went to a website he often used and typed in Cassandra Calloway. If she’d won a contest he might be able to find out something about it.

  He did. But not much. Just her name and the information that she’d won first place in the Texas Winter Fest’s Art Contest. The article said she was from Bryan. At least he knew something more now than he did before. And maybe, in the days to come, she’d open up to him and share more than a kiss.

  * * *

  Cassie had really tried hard not to remember that the Art Alliance Showing was at the Palmer Center this weekend. She didn’t know if she wanted to see why her work was turned down or if everybody else’s was so much better. The two couples who were staying at the B&B along with Nash had already eaten their breakfast and left. Cassie had seen Nash’s SUV parked along the street, so either he had gotten up early and walked somewhere, or he didn’t care about breakfast. He hadn’t slept in any of the days he’d been here. But who knew? Today could be different.

  He hadn’t been around much this week. He hadn’t sought her out. Was he sorry he’d confided in her? Did he regret the bond that had formed because he’d shared a secret? She had to stop thinking about him.

  An hour later, she was slicing and dicing vegetables for the evening meal. One of the new couples who had checked in this week had said they’d be here tonight.

  When she heard the stair steps creak, she was surprised to see Nash. He wasn’t dressed for a business meeting today. He wore blue jeans and his old brown boots along with a black Henley shirt. The Stetson was missing, though, which meant he wasn’t going out.

  “Not working today?” she asked as he came into the kitchen.

  “Not today. Even investigators need a day off now and then. I had an idea, though. How’s your day looking?”

  “No new arrivals today. Dinner for a couple tonight. I should do some chores, but...”

  “But?” he asked, his head cocked.

  “What was your idea?” She didn’t know if it included her or not, but the way he’d said it, it might.

  “I thought you might want to go to the arts festival.”

  She frowned. “I was going to skip it this year.”

  “Because you weren’t accepted to show?”

  Too perceptive. He was just too perceptive. “That doesn’t sound very good, does it? I should want to see other artists’ work, right?”

  “From the ads, it looks like the arts festival has more to offer than paintings.”

  “All right. Since I don’t have a good excuse not to go—”

  He gave her an offended look.

  She laughed. “I think it sounds like fun to go with you. Just give me a couple of minutes to stow away the veggies and get ready.”

  A half hour later, they’d parked and were walking toward the Palmer Center. Nash had been quiet in the car and she’d wondered what he was thinking about. She’d left him to his thoughts as she considered hers. Had he asked her along today because he’d kissed her and maybe wanted to do it again? Just how did she feel about that? If she thought about it, she felt weak-kneed. All week her mind had skittered around the idea of kissing him again. Not only kissing. She wanted to be held in those strong arms.

  As they walked into the Palmer Center, Cassie felt she had to make conversation. She said, “Art City Austin started out from a local street fair and progressed to this. This year they welcomed over a hundred individual artists from across the country, and there are twenty galleries from across Texas who are showcasing works.”

  “This place is something else,” Nash commented, looking around. “The stone and tile, all the glass, the covered balcony on the second floor. It’s really amazing.”

  “It’s one of our Austin landmarks.”

  They turned down a hall that was decorated with paintings on the wall. Cassie turned to Nash and asked, “Why did you really want to come here today?”

  He studied her for a few seconds as if he was gauging his reply. But then he said, “I’m tired of researching and going through public documents. There are so many and most of th
em don’t have anything to do with my biological father’s wife.” He grimaced. Then he said, “It seems odd to be talking about it with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve kept what I’m doing under wraps for so long. I could be looking at public documents at home, but here in Austin, where the couple lives, I thought I could find out more.”

  “Like putting all the puzzle pieces together,” she suggested.

  “Exactly. And what better way to get away from the puzzle for a time than to go to an arts festival with a pretty girl.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “You don’t have to resort to flattery.”

  Pure surprise registered on his handsome face. “Resort? You think I’m handing you a line?”

  With a resigned shrug, she admitted, “The truth is, Nash, I really haven’t dated, not for a very long time. So I’m not sure I’d know a line when someone was handing it to me.”

  He took her by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “That wasn’t a line, Cassie. I don’t do lines. You are pretty and sexy and talented. End of discussion.”

  She blinked, but then she asked, “Is that your cop voice you’re using?”

  He laughed. “It usually works. Is it working on you?”

  “No. If someone tells me the discussion ended, that just makes me want to continue it.”

  He shook his head. “You’re one of those, huh?”

  She laughed again. Then seriously she said, “I suppose you’ve run into people of all personalities, both male and female.”

  “I have. When I was a beat cop in Oklahoma, the work was rough,. We put in long hours, preventing domestic violence if we could, preventing shootings or getting in the middle of those shootings. But in spite of all that, I actually enjoy talking to ordinary people—for instance, a kid who is usually afraid of cops. Once he talked to me, then he wasn’t afraid. I like the time I spent in schools, giving workshops on safety for kids.”

  “So why did you leave it?”

  “I needed a new life.”

  To Cassie that sounded as if Nash’s heart had been broken, but he didn’t seem willing to talk to her about that. They hadn’t known each other well enough or long enough, and this wasn’t exactly the place to have that kind of discussion.

  Still, she prodded a little. “So you went to Mississippi and—”

  “And I became a detective. There was an opening in the white-collar crime unit, so I took it.”

  “And now?” she asked.

  “I’m definitely not sure dealing with white-collar crime is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I investigate CEOs, money laundering possibilities, and then I call in the appropriate acronym.”

  “Acronym?”

  “Government agency. Tax evasion is IRS, money laundering can be IRS along with FBI, drugs or guns can come under the ATF.”

  “Alcohol, tobacco and firearms.”

  He nodded.

  “So usually you don’t see something to its finish?”

  “Sometimes. Maybe that’s what bothers me most. Maybe that’s why I want to see this to its finish.”

  “I can certainly understand that.” She took hold of his arm. “But, Nash, this is personal for you, too. It could cause you damage even though you don’t think so now.”

  He wrapped her arm around his and started walking. “Don’t worry about me, Cassie. I’ll handle whatever comes my way. I’ve been taught to do that professionally, and I’ve learned to do it personally.”

  Cassie knew Nash believed what he was saying, but she still had her doubts. How could he put his biological father’s wife in jail and not have regrets?

  But she wasn’t going to ask any more questions because Nash was acting as if that discussion was over. That was his way of dealing with questions he didn’t want to answer. Or maybe feelings that came up that he didn’t want to feel. Even though she didn’t know him well, she knew that. How was that even possible in two weeks?

  She glanced at his profile, the jut of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders. She wasn’t sure. She just knew she was mightily attracted to him as she’d never been to another man.

  They walked, paused and studied paintings. Cassie tried not to compare anything to her own work, but that was difficult not to do. “Some of these are so good,” she murmured, studying a landscape of the Southwest with its red rocks, almost turquoise sky, cactus and many colors of earth.

  “You’ve lost confidence, haven’t you?” Nash noted.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She brushed off his words as if they were too far-fetched to consider.

  “You know exactly what I mean. You don’t think your work is as good as what’s displayed here.”

  “How can I think anything else? They rejected my work.”

  “Oh, Cassie. You know that saying? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?”

  “Maybe.”

  They walked on, past booths from various galleries that had displays. Cassie spotted Nash pocketing business cards from them. She didn’t ask him why. Nash was an investigator. His job was to collect information, so maybe that was what he was doing. Who knew? She couldn’t expect him to pour his heart out to her just because they’d shared a kiss...and a confidence.

  She thought about their kiss again. Many more of those and they would know each other very well.

  Pictures played in her mind that made her blush. She couldn’t believe she was thinking about Nash in that way, imagining him without his T-shirt, fantasizing about running her fingers through his hair. She’d never had a crush on anybody, not even Cody Sinclair, who’d walked away because her mother had been deemed a criminal. This wasn’t a crush on Nash, she scolded herself. This was just a woman’s response to an attractive man. Completely natural.

  When they’d walked around awhile longer, Nash said, “Have you looked at enough paintings?”

  “Have you?” she returned.

  He blew out a breath. “Another question doesn’t answer a question.”

  “All right,” Cassie said. “Tell me what you’d rather do instead of looking at paintings.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You know, I think you could give a lawyer a run for his money.”

  She gave him a coy smile. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  He chuckled. “If you’re ready to leave, why don’t we stop at the tasting room at the Mendoza Winery? We can have a little fun, taste wine and bring a bottle back to the B&B. Do you have time for that?”

  She’d like to thank Carlo again for arranging her Paint and Sip social. Assuming he was there. She checked her watch. “I have time. I think that sounds like a great idea.”

  Although she didn’t usually drink, tasting a few of Carlo’s wines could be fun. She’d take a sip of each and that would be that.

  Nash hung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. After he did, she could smell a hint of citrusy cologne and she liked it. She liked feeling his warmth.

  Who was she kidding? She liked him.

  * * *

  Nash knew exactly why he’d asked Cassie to go to the tasting room with him. He wanted to spend more time with her away from the bed-and-breakfast. When she was there, it was as if she had a burden on her shoulders. Out and about she smiled more and laughed more. Maybe there was something about the bed-and-breakfast that reminded her of something else. Maybe if they spent more time together, she’d tell him.

  This time at the tasting room they went in a different entrance than the one for the restaurant. The two of them faced a large rough-hewn wooden door.

  Nash took hold of the brass handle and pulled the door open. It creaked and they stepped inside. There was a reception area with high vaulted ceilings with dark beams. Beyond that they could see a marble-topped tasting bar crowded with wine glasses and corked bottles. In the center of the room sat a
wooden trestle table that must be used for the tastings.

  A man in a black shirt and black pants stepped out of an office located down the hall to the right of the wine bar.

  He smiled as he came toward them. “I’m Ricardo,” he said. “Are you here for a tasting?”

  “We are,” Nash confirmed, his hand possessively resting in the small of Cassie’s back. It seemed natural to touch her like that. She didn’t shrug away so he supposed it was the right thing to do.

  “Have a seat,” Ricardo said.

  “Is Carlo here?” Cassie asked.

  Ricardo shook his head. “He’s away for the day.”

  “Will you thank him again for me for hosting the Paint and Sip?”

  “Surely, I will. Now tell me what kind of wine you prefer.”

  “Sweet,” Cassie answered. “But I really only want a taste. I don’t really drink often.”

  Nash gave her a surprised look. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t drink, why did you want to come? Are you sure you want to stay?”

  “I wanted to thank Carlo again. And I’ve never tried the Mendoza wines. A tasting is just that, a tasting. I’ll have a sip or two of each one. We’re good, Nash.”

  As he gazed into her eyes, he suspected they would be very good together. Had he hoped after a glass of wine or two she’d be receptive to his advances?

  No. He’d already decided that shouldn’t happen. That was why he’d stayed away from her this week.

  Nash looked up at Ricardo. “I like dry.”

  “I’m sure I can satisfy both of your palates,” Ricardo assured them with a wink. “Do you know anything about wines?” he asked.

  “I know about types and some of the good years. But that’s about it,” Nash responded.

  “That’s more than most people know.” Ricardo went to the bar and chose two bottles. He brought them to the table with two wine glasses. “This is Sunny Days—a Chenin Blanc,” he told Nash. “It’s a dry white wine. It’s not well-known by many consumers. For the lady, let’s try Southwestern Comfort—a Muscat Blanc. It is also a white wine but a bit sweeter. It goes well with chocolate.” Ricardo brought a plate of chocolate, a basket of crackers and dish of cheese to the table.