She expected Claire to look away and refuse. Instead delight lit her brown eyes. “I would be honored to be your agent. I didn’t mention it because I wasn’t sure if you were having second thoughts with your uncle coming.”
A weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying slid off Julia’s shoulders. “Yes!” she exclaimed, doing a little fist pump.
Claire glanced down at her hands before looking back at Julia. “You did me a favor.”
“I did?”
“Turns out Tim wants to come along on my business trips.” Claire’s face glowed with excitement. “Keep this under your hat, but he plans to hire another vet to ease his workload.”
“Glad I could help,” Julia said. Would Paul be able to come with her on business trips? How tied was he to his brother and nephew? It didn’t change her feelings about staying, but it would be thrilling to have Paul by her side in a new place. She yanked her mind back to practical matters. “Do we need an agreement or can we just shake hands?” She stuck out her hand toward Claire.
The other woman took it in both of hers and gave it a firm squeeze. “I’m sure Paul will insist on a legal document, but a handshake is good enough for me.”
Just like that, Julia had a new agent. “This feels good,” she said, as a sense of control poured through her. She needed someone outside her family to be involved with her art.
“We’ll drink a toast to our new partnership at the show,” Claire said. “I’ve ordered very good wine so our patrons will feel less pain when writing the checks.”
She winked and Julia laughed. So far her plan was right on track. She pushed up to her feet. “Shall I give you a hand with the paintings?”
Claire rose but waved away her offer of assistance. “It’s easy to roll the panels around. You go brace yourself for your uncle’s arrival.”
On an impulse, Julia threw her arms around the other woman. Claire looked surprised, but she responded with a return hug almost immediately.
“This is going to be a great partnership,” Julia said, releasing her new agent.
Now she just had to break the news to her uncle.
An hour later, she stood on the front porch of the Traveller Inn, jiggling from one foot to the other as she watched a black sedan swing around the front circle. The driver leaped out of the car but before he could get to the back door, it opened and her uncle emerged. He wore a gray pinstriped suit, a pale-blue shirt, and a red tie.
“In full intimidation mode,” she muttered under her breath as she walked down the shallow stone steps to greet him. The image of Darkside bucking and tearing around his paddock before he took a carrot from her hand flashed through her mind. She’d been able to tame an untamable horse; surely she could handle her uncle.
He said something to the driver before turning toward her. She was surprised to find that he looked smaller than she remembered, and the silver threads in his dark hair seemed more noticeable.
His face lit up as he opened his arms. “Mi querida, it is so good to see you.”
She walked into them, breathing in the lemon-and-sage scent of his cologne. The strength and familiarity of his embrace were reassuring, and for a moment she clung to him. No matter what had happened in their recent past, he was still the man she thought of almost as a father.
“I’ve missed you,” she murmured next to his ear.
“Then why have you stayed away so long?” he asked, holding her away from him and giving her a small, exasperated shake.
“I’ve been gone all of six days,” she said, with a smile.
“And every one of those days I lived in fear.”
The will to smile vanished. “That’s unnecessary, Tío. I’m no longer a child.”
“You will always be my sobrinita.” He slipped his arm around her waist and steered her up the steps. “Tell me about this inn. Do you know when it was built?”
She recognized the tactics: he’d realized his error and was withdrawing behind his charm to regroup. “Pre–Civil War,” she said. “The owner can tell you the details.”
Her uncle continued his flow of observations as they were seated in the cozy dining room. “That is a Henry repeating rifle!” he said, his voice tinged with excitement.
Julia followed his gaze to see a long gun hanging on the wall over a print of a battle. The rifle had a polished wooden stock and brass fittings.
The innkeeper emerged from the kitchen. “That rifle belonged to my great-grandfather,” Lyle explained. “He always said it kept him alive through the war.”
“That weapon is a true masterpiece,” Carlos said.
Julia felt her temper spark at the word. Her uncle considered an old gun a masterpiece but thought her Night Mares were too awful to let anyone see. She leaned forward. “After lunch, I want to show you where my paintings will be exhibited.”
A line formed between Carlos’s eyebrows but he nodded before he opened his menu. “What do you recommend?”
“Their corn muffins,” she said with a faint smile. “I’ve never eaten anything but breakfast here.”
The line deepened as he frowned. “You know how important it is for you to eat regular meals.”
“This isn’t the only restaurant in town.” Guilt made her defensive; she knew eating at regular intervals was something her doctors had recommended to help control her epilepsy. In her newfound freedom, she’d let that particular safeguard slip.
Carlos made a disapproving sound but turned back to the menu. The waitress approached, her pen poised.
“Rainbow trout for both of us,” Carlos said, closing the leather folder. “And lemonade.”
“Actually, I’d like the crab cakes,” Julia said, choosing a dish at random. She had planned to order the trout until her uncle presumed to speak for her. “With a side salad. And sparkling water.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the waitress said, scribbling rapidly.
As soon as she collected the menus and left, Carlos said, “But trout has always been your favorite.”
“I’ve broadened my horizons.” Julia shook out the linen napkin and laid it across her lap. “There’s a business matter I need to discuss with you.”
He held up his hand. “I apologize for withholding those paintings from the market. It is possible I misjudged their artistic merit, but I did what I thought was best for your career. And for you.”
Julia forced herself not to spew forth the hurt and sense of betrayal his actions had caused her. She took in a breath, counted to five, and let it out before she spoke. “Did you really show them to any dealers, or was it just your opinion they would damage my reputation?”
“Of course I showed them to dealers!” His nostrils flared and an angry flush washed up his cheeks. “I did not like the paintings myself, but I would not be so unprofessional as to make an artistic judgment on my own. I consulted several experts before I made the decision to keep them private.”
“Who did you consult?”
He unclenched his fists to drum his fingers on the table. “First I took them to Raymond Ballantine. He said he couldn’t sell them.”
Raymond’s gallery was in Hickory, North Carolina. Carlos had persuaded him to take three of Julia’s horse paintings on consignment when she was still in art school. Much to everyone’s surprise and delight, the pictures had sold in a week. It reminded Julia of all she owed her uncle when it came to building her career.
However, her uncle was well aware that Raymond’s clientele was very regional. The tourists went there to buy furniture, not art, so it wasn’t the right place for her Night Mares.
“I’m not surprised,” Julia said, hanging onto her temper by a thread.
Her uncle shrugged dismissively. “I did not expect him to have buyers for the paintings; his patrons are not of the level you have reached. However, I respect his opinion on art. I also took several to Richard Cruz and Eva Mady in Asheville, both of whom are very well-known. Neither was enthusiastic.”
That smarted. Asheville had a fairly sophisticat
ed art scene.
“They asked if I would reduce the prices to encourage new buyers and I of course refused. The paintings were still by Julia Castillo.” Indignation rang in his voice and Julia felt her anger diminish. Her uncle might not like her black horses, but he wasn’t going to devalue them. “I wonder now if they simply did not have buyers who were able to afford your work as it grew more valuable.” He shook his head. “I may have misread their reactions.”
It was quite an admission from her proud, confident uncle, and a little more of her hurt drained away. “Why didn’t you show them to Claire? You knew she was passionate about my work.”
“Because she was no longer in New York. You do not think she can sell your paintings here in this aldea.” He waved his hand around to indicate the smallness of Sanctuary. The fact that he used the Spanish word for village told Julia he was upset; he prided himself on his English vocabulary.
She’d been right about his easy acquiescence to the art exhibit at Claire’s gallery; he thought it would go unnoticed by the larger art community.
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “I was not going to hide your work in a third-rate gallery. It deserves the proper respect.”
“Claire’s gallery is highly respected,” Julia said, her temper flashing at the disparagement of her friend’s business. “Paxton Hayes is coming here.”
“Mr. Hayes is coming because Julia Castillo’s work will be on display,” Carlos said, sitting back with his arms crossed, an arrogant tilt to his head.
She didn’t know whether to be gratified or ticked off. He clearly held her work in high esteem, yet he did nothing but criticize it in private. At least he hadn’t lied to her when he told her dealers didn’t want the new paintings. Perhaps his choice of dealers was questionable, but he had tried to get a cross section. He didn’t believe in the work himself, so he’d given up too easily.
She was trying to decide how to explain the devastation his lack of faith in her had caused when he uncrossed his arms. “Mi Julia, I am concerned about the art exhibition. Paxton Hayes is not a supporter of your work, you know. He can be very…cutting. It might be upsetting to you.”
“Upsetting?” Julia was afraid she knew where he was going with this.
Her uncle shifted in his chair. “You will be in a room full of critical strangers, with strong lighting and a certain level of chaos. It will be stressful.” He shifted again. “You might have a seizure.”
Julia crushed the napkin in her fists. “I don’t have seizures anymore. The doctors confirmed it. I’m cured.”
“No, the doctors believe you might be cured because you have not had a seizure. But that is because we keep you safe and away from anything that might provoke one.”
Now he was jabbing at her most vulnerable point. She had been wrapped in a protective cocoon for several years. Did she only appear to be cured? “Do you know what I’ve done in the last six days, Tío? I’ve driven myself three hundred miles in a car that broke down on the side of the interstate three miles from my destination. I’ve ridden on a motorcycle twice. I’ve swum in a river.” That was stretching the truth but she wasn’t going to tell him what she’d really done in the river. “I’ve taken long, hot baths. And”—she tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder—“I’ve ridden a horse.”
He sat silent until her last statement when his eyes widened. “Dios mío, is that true?”
She nodded. “I have another riding lesson scheduled for this afternoon. I thought you might come.”
“I—” Carlos shook his head. “I don’t know whether to be alarmed or joyful.”
“Joyful.” She managed to unclench one hand and reached across the table to lay it over his. “I was nervous, but I never felt as though I was going to have a seizure.”
“Raul will want to know about your riding. He always wanted you to have the same pleasure in horses that he did,” her uncle said, referring to his brother, her stepfather. “Perhaps he will feel joyful. As for me, I am concerned.”
Julia realized that seeing her on Darkside wouldn’t ease his concern. Maybe taking him to the stable was a mistake.
“Ma’am?” The waitress hovered beside her with the plate of crab cakes, blocked by Julia’s arm from putting it down in front of her.
“Oh, sorry.” Julia squeezed her uncle’s hand before she removed hers. As she sat silent while the waitress fussed around the table, all the pieces of her conversation with her uncle rearranged themselves into a revelation.
If he hadn’t driven her out of her comfortable bubble, she wouldn’t have done any of the things she’d just listed for him.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.
Carlos shook his head with a smile, and she went on to another table.
“It had to happen,” Julia said, almost light-headed at the insight.
“What do you mean?” Her uncle looked up from his plate.
“I needed to grow, but not just in my art. In my life. My Night Mares are all about fear. No wonder you hated them. But my fear was holding me back, and I had to pull it out of me and trap it on the canvas.” She knew she sounded delirious. “You did me a huge favor, Tío. You forced me out into the world.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The last thing I wanted was for you to take off in an untrustworthy car without any word of where you were going.”
She locked her gaze with his, willing him to understand. “When I started to change the style of my work, you told me you didn’t like it. I wasn’t sure I liked it, either, but I knew I couldn’t go back to what I had been doing. I had to keep going in the direction I had started. As the paintings got darker, you liked them less and less, but to me, they were becoming better, stronger.” She waved her arms around, trying to pluck the right word from the air. “They came from a place inside me that I’d never visited before, a place I needed to explore.”
“A place of nightmares,” her uncle said. “Not a place art patrons want to visit.”
Julia shook her head. “I was wrong to call them Night Mares. They’re about taking risks, about facing the unknown. That’s not a bad dream. That’s real life.”
“They are not beautiful like your other work.”
“They have a different kind of beauty, one that comes from power.” Her eyes burned with tears as she remembered the days of despair when she had to force herself to go to her studio. The times when the thought of painting another pretty pastoral landscape made it impossible for her to even pick up a paintbrush. “It was a terrible time for me, Tío, when you didn’t believe in my work. I nearly stopped painting.”
Carlos’s fork clattered onto his plate. “You have a brilliant talent. It would be a terrible crime to stop using it.”
“I think it would have killed me,” Julia said simply.
Her uncle rubbed at his chest. “I never intended…you should have told me.”
“I tried, but I felt so beaten down and alone.”
Carlos lowered his head. “I never wished to cause you such pain. You are the daughter of my heart.” He shrugged in regret. “I am terribly sorry, mi niña. I do not deserve it, but can you forgive me?”
She reached across the table and touched the back of his hand, her smile tremulous. “Of course I can. I love you very much, but I am not a niña anymore. That’s the problem. It’s been so easy to let you take care of me, but it’s not healthy for either of us. If you hadn’t threatened the one thing I can’t live without, I never would have realized that.”
“I was trying to protect you.” Carlos shook his head. “You are fragile.”
“No, I’m not.” She sat up straight in her chair and thought of fighting through her panic on the back of Paul’s motorcycle, of facing down Darkside when he tried to intimidate her with a thousand pounds of out-of-control horse. “I’ve learned that about myself.”
Her uncle shook his head again. “You have not had to watch the child you love crash to the ground, her body convulsing, her limbs
flailing, and know you cannot do anything to help her in her torment.”
“No, I haven’t,” Julia said, seeing his genuine anguish in the tic of a muscle in his cheek. “But neither have you for seven years.”
“It is hard to banish those images from my mind.”
“For my sake, will you try?”
He made a restless gesture with his hand. “I will do my best.”
“Good,” Julia said, giving a decisive nod. She’d walloped Carlos with some pretty emotional stuff and he seemed to have heard her. Now came the hardest part. She spilled it out in one long rush. “This situation has shown me the necessity of putting my career on a more businesslike footing. I appreciate everything you have done to build my reputation as an artist, but I need to look outside the family now. Claire Arbuckle has agreed to be my agent.”
She waited, her hands clenched around the wadded-up napkin in her lap.
Carlos rocked back in his chair. “I see. This is my punishment.”
“No, it’s business. Nothing more or less.”
She expected an explosion, but he merely picked up his fork and calmly took a bite of trout. “If you hire Mrs. Arbuckle, you must tell her about your condition,” he said, after he swallowed.
She stabbed a crab cake and shredded a piece from it. “I see no reason why it’s necessary.”
“She must keep you out of situations like Friday night.”
Julia put down her fork. “You’re missing the point. I want to be in situations like the reception.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself to make this a business discussion. “I’ve reached a point in my career where I need to broaden my customer base. As you pointed out, my current work might not appeal to previous buyers. Claire Arbuckle has contacts in New York City so she can put my paintings in front of an audience more accustomed to edgier art.”
“I thought I was protecting your reputation, not limiting your customers,” her uncle said. Her plan to distract him from her epilepsy had worked. “Mrs. Arbuckle simply wants to make money from what you have given her now. It will sell because of the popularity of your older work, but she does not care about the long-term view of your career as I do.”
Country Roads Page 26
