by Linda Joyce
Snapping her fingers, she pointed to the backseat of the truck. Thankfully, Jack obeyed, and he laid down.
She kept the truck between her and the man, rather than going around to confront him. He had ten inches and at least fifty pounds on her.
“Do you need something?” She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. “Is there someone I can call for you?” A quick glance up and down the mostly empty street let her know that unless someone watched from windows above, anything about to happen could be a crime without a witness.
Focusing on her phone, she hit the speed-dial button for Lucas. He would hear anything that happened. Besides, it wouldn’t seem weird since Lucas was waiting for her call.
“I wanted to pet him. Handsome guy. I hunt.” The man tugged on his suit coat. “I also raise Brittany Spaniels.”
“Okay. Well, have a nice day.” What else do you say to a stranger in a business suit loitering beside your truck?
“Hello?” Lucas’s voice startled her from the other end of the phone.
“Oh! Lucas,” she said, lifting the phone to her ear. Maybe the stranger before her would take a hint and walk away. She could hope. Her mind whirled with ideas about everything she’d learned regarding self-defense, but that didn’t stop fear from making her nerves tingle.
When the man started toward her, she quickly darted her eyes from side to side to scan the area. She licked her lips. Her pulse raced. Her brain screamed, don’t show fear.
“Lucas, you’re coming to meet me? Five minutes? That soon?”
“Amelia? Are you all right?” Lucas replied.
The man reached into his suit coat. Lia wanted to unlock the truck, hop inside, and drive off. Missouri allowed conceal and carry. Did the guy have a gun?
“Sorry to interrupt your call, but here’s my card,” the man said. “I like the look of Jack. I’ll leave you to your business. If you have papers on him, I’d like to talk with you about breeding. I’ve got a sweet female. Together, they’d make some very handsome pups.”
“Lucas, please hang on a minute.” Lia took the card. Robert Brooks. Realtor.
Her guard dropped a bit, her rising fear leveled off. She thanked him. “Sorry, but Jack’s a tenor.” All she wanted was the man gone.
As though he’d read her mind, he nodded slightly, crossed the street and walked down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
The uneasiness swirling inside her had more to do with the earlier theft rather than the stature of the man and the oddity of their meeting. However, she didn’t dare turn her back completely on him while continuing her call.
“Lucas, sorry about that. I’m parked on the street beside the building of my studio. A strange man was trying to pet Jack through the truck window. I got worried. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Is he still there? Are you safe? Is there anyone else around?” Lucas’s questions came rapid fire.
“He’s gone now.” Lia let out a deep sigh. “I confess I’ll be glad to be home. As much as I love my studio space, I just can’t live in the city anymore. I have an errand to run. After that, I’m going to start packing things up. I’ve got a proposition for Craig, one I hope he’ll accept.”
“You’re coming back tonight?”
“No. Remember? I said I’d be spending the night. I’ll call you tomorrow when I get home.” The less Lucas and Craig knew about what had taken place today, the better. “I’m on my way back to the gallery now.”
At the gallery, Lia waited while Jan took photographs of the three pieces. They weren’t her best, but better than some sold in the past.
“The colors aren’t as bold as the stolen ones,” Jan said matter-of-factly, inspecting the art resting against the white gallery wall. “However, the perspective is fresh.”
“These were painted before my parents died. The ones you originally selected are mostly more recent works.”
“I can’t paint,” Jan said. “But I’d love to collaborate with you and see what happens with a multimedia piece.”
Lia paused. Not that again. Insulting Jan was the last thing she wanted to do, but mixed media wasn’t her thing. Art speaks to people differently and trying to collaborate on the technical might work, but she could never take someone else’s emotions, make them her own, and translate it into a painting. It just wasn’t how she worked, not how she connected to the flow of creativity. “All I can say is maybe. It’s been a rough day.”
“Oh. Right. What was I thinking?” Jan said apologetically. “You’ve got to be in shock, so I hate to ask, but will you deliver the rest of the work tomorrow?”
“Before you close.”
Lia flashed a halfhearted smile. The show had to be a success. Otherwise, lack of funds would mean closing the door to the history of her whole life and doing what Craig wanted all along—selling the farm.
While uncertainty had her in a chokehold, two things became crystal clear. One—she would take a risk, a big risk and show Lucas her heart. Two—the time had come to give up the lease on her art studio. She didn’t need it as a safety net. No matter what happened with Lucas or with the farm, she wouldn’t return to the city to paint, even if it meant living in a trailer in a sunflower field.
With her decisions made, she climbed into the truck and mentally compared the day to scaling a daunting mountain. She’d tumbled into a deep emotional bottom, free-fall style. The climb up promised a treacherous route.
She still had everything to lose.
Chapter 11
Votive candles blazed from every ledge in the art studio. Soft white light danced against the brick walls. Under other circumstances, the loft bathed in candlelight looked romantic. Now, dim lighting set the mood Lia needed for wallowing, indulging in a pity party.
“You’ve got until the sun comes up,” she muttered, “to get on with life.” She prided herself in being a glass-half-full sort of person. She had never ventured down the dark path of self-pity, not before or since her parents passed away. It would be like falling down the rabbit hole as Alice did in Wonderland, or waking up in Oz like Dorothy. There had to be something positive in the cloud of doom following her around. Many folks were worse off than she was. Poor Megan, for example, still stung from abandonment, and her parents lived only several states away, but to Megan it was as though they were dead. They claimed they couldn’t bear losing the farm and breaking up the family, yet they ignored their teenaged daughter? It made no sense. That had to be worse, right? But Megan was doing fine.
Love in the Britton household had been as plentiful as the kernels of corn on all the cobs in Kansas. She loved her parents that much and more. The ache of missing them beat stronger sometimes more than others. This was one of those times. While she was no longer the little girl who had climbed into her father’s lap waiting for him to rock her pain away or who cuddled next to her mother and cried on her shoulder, she missed hashing out adult problems with them. They had always helped her find her own solutions, something Craig wasn’t good at.
The scent of cinnamon drifted through the air, reminding her of her mom’s famous cookies and breakfast rolls, the ones her mom made to cheer her up. Cinnamon equaled Mom in her memories. Stimulating her olfactory senses was the best way to connect with her mom. The pain of wanting her close thumped an echoing beat in the hollow emptiness of her chest.
Lia sat on the paint-stained wooden floor in old sweat pants and a worn t-shirt borrowed from Karen who’d sublet the studio. She painted black onto a small canvas, the color mirrored her mood. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. One escaped and dropped onto the painting, her rendition of grief. Having the show paintings disappear, brazenly stolen in broad daylight while she walked Jack only feet away, hurt as though someone had taken a box cutter to her heart. She cherished each painting and mourned their loss. Whenever a painting sold, she consoled herself with the belief that the person buying it had an emotional connection to it, loved it as she did, otherwise,
they wouldn’t be laying down cash. Buying art wasn’t like buying a bathroom rug, something easily expendable.
Beside her on the floor, Jack raised his head and bumped her arm. His soulful expression reflected her feelings. He rose and settled behind her, his side against her backside. He rested his head on his front paws. Her sweet four-legged boy always stayed close whenever she was sad.
Startled by the noise, Lia blinked when the door to the studio rolled open.
“Hi there! I was afraid I might miss you. Love the candles. How about some music?” Karen walked toward the armoire housing the sound system.
“Something happy,” Lia replied. “My mom used to love Stevie Wonder. I need to get a grip and break away from stark and morose.” Lia scanned the room, taking in Karen’s art. “You’ve been very prolific here.”
“It’s the perfect place to paint.”
Soft sounds of smooth jazz glided through the studio. Karen sat on a pillow across from Lia.
“I’m going to spend the night, Karen. Is that okay with you?”
“Technically, it’s your studio.” Karen cocked her head. “You don’t look so good. What’s wrong?”
Lia swallowed hard. “The dozen paintings for my show were stolen today.”
“No!” Karen slammed her palms to the floor. “You called the police, right? Of course, you did. I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”
“I took over three others I had stored here, but those paintings are several years old. I’m a much better painter now although the abstract, Five Seasons, won first place in the Plaza Art Festival five years ago. That was my first big regional win. Jan at the gallery wants a few I have at home. But this isn’t the show I planned.”
“Why don’t you come home with me tonight?”
“Thanks, but I need to be alone.” Lia shook her head.
Karen’s frown deepened. “Again, I’m really sorry about your paintings, but this”—she pointed her finger at Lia and made circles—“goes way beyond the loss of some paintings. What’s really going on?”
“It’s complicated.” Lia couldn’t utter the words to share how hard-hitting and deep the loss of the paintings went, not without completely losing it.
“A margarita might help uncomplicate things,” Karen said, gathering her purse and jingling her keys. “I need to deliver a gift. Girl, are you sure you want to spend the night alone here?”
“I’ve got Gentleman Jack. You go. I need to be alone.” She hoped Karen would take the hint.
“Why don’t I stay with you? I’ll walk Jack. I’ll run to the store and get some food for him. You won’t have to worry about anything.” Karen scooped up Jack’s leash. “I’ll open a bottle of wine. We’ll drink straight from the bottle and munch on cheese and crackers. Very bohemian of us.” Karen clapped. “Come, Jack. Want to go for a ride with me? You can meet my boy, Lucky. He’ll want to play.”
Behind Lia, Jack moved. He scooted around, resting his head on her knee, and stared with eyes so sad her heart seized. Who knew a dog could look so grieved. “Thanks, but Jack will stay with me.”
“Seriously. Come with me, Lia. You can take my bedroom for privacy and cry your eyes out there, if you need to. I promise not to interrupt. I won’t even hand you tissues. I’ll worry if I leave you alone tonight,” Karen said, her voice imploring.
As the sun began to set, it took Lia’s resolve. The toll from the day ripped her defenses away like pulling a bandage off a festering wound. Lia stabbed the canvas with the paintbrush. “I just can’t understand why anyone would want to steal my work.”
“I know, sweetie. Tomorrow I’ll start checking internet sites to see if they show up.”
“Karen,” Lia confided, “the police interrogated me. I felt so stupid. I didn’t think to insure my work, which is the only reason they stopped their inquisition. Can you believe they thought I’d staged a heist of my own work for insurance money?” The insinuation by the investigating officer had shocked her as much as finding her paintings gone.
Karen let go of the leash and dropped to the floor again. “Okay, you win. If you won’t leave, I’ll stay with you.”
“I’ll be fine. This is, after all, still my studio. I’ve spent nights here in the past.”
“But, not in the last year. You have two choices. I stay or you come with me.”
Lia sat up straighter. “Please understand, I don’t intend to be rude. I need to work myself out of this funk.”
“And you can do it with company. If you were painting with blue, I’d agree, but you’re painting black.”
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The pounding startled Lia. She sucked in a breath. Karen jumped. Gentleman Jack jerked alert, barked, ran to the door, and then darted back toward her. Halfway, he turned again and barked at the door.
Bam.
Whoever pounded on the door meant business.
“Amelia?” The loud, muffled male voice on the other side of the door was unrecognizable.
Gentleman Jack barked louder.
“Jack, quiet,” Lia commanded. “Yes?”
“Amelia, it’s Lucas!”
“Lucas?” Karen asked.
Lia pursed her lips. Why had he come? She looked a mess, and her face had to be puffy from crying.
“Amelia, I heard Jack. I saw your truck. I know you’re here. Open the door.”
“Who is this crazy person?” Karen’s quizzical expression reminded Lia that Karen was an art friend, one who knew little about her country life.
“Please let him in.”
Karen slid the door open. Gentleman Jack squirmed into an attentive sit on the floor beside Lia. Though he was a bird dog, he often imitated a guard dog. One twice his size. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a hug. The last thing she needed was pity from Lucas. Jack would help her put on a brave front.
The moment the door moved fully aside, Lucas rushed in. Jack raced over and danced at his feet, following Lucas to her as if to say, Thank God you’re here. I don’t know what else to do with her.
“Are you okay?” Lucas pulled Lia to standing and wrapped her in a bear hug.
Lia nodded, unable to speak. Lucas had come to find her, something she’d dreamed about. But not now. Not like this. She swallowed hard. Her mind held up a red stop sign. The only thing missing was someone blowing a whistle and shouting, Stop! Stepping back, she put space between them, an invisible wall of protection around herself.
“Gentleman Jack, here,” Karen called. “Ah, I’m going to walk him. I’ll even get him some food before I drop him back here.”
Jack cut his gaze to Lia, then pawed at Karen. He was ready to go. Lucas could handle things. Karen left the studio with Jack obediently heeling at her side.
“We’ll be back in bit.” Karen closed the door on her way out.
“How did you know where to find me?” Lia tried to keep suspicion from her voice. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she held her ground. Lucas was the only man who could reach inside and grab hold of her vulnerabilities. He and Craig might try to use the mess she’d gotten into against her.
“Shush.” Lucas reached for her, running one hand gently from the crown of her head, down her back, down to her waist as if checking to ensure she was in one piece. “This had to be a hard day. Just let me hold you.”
Never good at the damn-if-I-care attitude Zoë had perfected, Lia blanked all caution warnings from her mind and snuggled close to him. The heat of him comforted her. The bear hug offered shelter against the battles of the day.
“It will be okay,” he whispered over and over again. Was he trying to convince her or himself?
Lia clung to him. The spot where her cheek rested against his blue chambray shirt darkened from tears. She trembled. Had that whimper come from her?
Lucas held her tighter, his embrace an invitation to safety. Her heartache began to dissolve. Her spirits lifted out of the black hole, buoyed just above the surface, discovering warmth and light. He made her believe h
is words, now a mantra in her brain. Yet, resignation still clung tightly to her heart.
She sighed. “There’s no reason for me to be upset. Tears won’t change anything. I have to figure out how to carry on. Craig was right. I’ve failed.”
Lucas cupped her face tenderly in his hands, his thumbs stroking away the remaining wet streaks on her cheeks. She searched his eyes for a stern I told you so, but didn’t find the painful accusation. Instead, she witnessed an anguish she’d never seen before.
“You haven’t failed,” Lucas said with conviction. “I’ll help you find a way to make it work.”
“I can’t take any help from you.” She straightened. “I have to make it on my own. Otherwise, I have lost.”
“Farmers help farmers. Neighbors help neighbors. That’s the unwritten code. Your brother tried to help me, help my dad, but he couldn’t pull a miracle out of his pocket. Craig doesn’t want you to suffer what my family went through. His intentions are good, but his actions are a bit misguided. Know this, Amelia. You haven’t failed.”
“All I have left is a second-rate show with maybe ten or twelve old paintings. My crop. And a few more boxes.”
“That’s better than nothing.”
Lia dropped to a cushion on the floor, sat cross-legged, and motioned for Lucas to sit on the one facing her. Hope danced a nervous cha-cha in her stomach. “I was so close, so close to turning the corner. Now it’s as though all my dreams are scattering in the wind, blowing like dandelion seeds.”
She remembered the morning she’d tripped and scattered boxes on the ground. Maybe it had been an omen. If not a foretelling of the future—that was Helen’s department—it sure spoke of the past, one that kept inching into the present no matter how hard she battled. Had she run out of options? Had Craig won the war of wills?
Lucas took her hands in his. “I’ll help you get through this. We’ll find a way. Together. You must trust all is not lost. You still have the harvest.”
