His implication that her Night Mares were not good enough still stung. Then she remembered Paul’s reaction the first time he’d seen her painting; it had given him a good wallop. He’d wanted it and he claimed never to have wanted a work of art before. Her chin angled higher. “Mrs. Arbuckle understands I have to move forward in my work.”
“Then perhaps it is best I don’t represent you.” He flaked off another bite of trout.
Her mouth nearly fell open. That was it? He was taking his dismissal that calmly?
“Fortunately, I have invested your earnings carefully so you will never be without resources.”
He must be desperate if he was invoking the gods of financial ruin. She spoke softly, trying to project the love she felt for him across the table and into his heart. “Let’s go back to being family, not partners.”
“We have been both for years.”
“I love you, Tío. Don’t let business drive a wedge between us.”
Carlos put his fork down and raised his napkin to his lips. When he looked at her again, she saw hurt in his eyes. “You mean this, mi querida?”
She nodded, tears welling. She hated to cause him pain, but it was better to make a clean break now than to let it fester.
“Your paintings hang in the homes and offices of governors and movie stars and CEOs,” he said, drawing himself up in his chair. “Why you feel that is not good enough I don’t understand.”
The tears spilled down her cheeks. “I—”
He waved his hand for silence. “I love you as a father loves a daughter, and I understand that children must rebel sometimes. So I will step aside.”
“This will be better, I swear,” Julia said, nearly choking on the lump in her throat.
“You know she will charge you forty percent commission?” he said, giving her a mock warning look. “I worked for only twenty-five.”
Her laugh was shaky, but it was a laugh. She and Carlos would be all right.
“Verna, can you give me a lift to my house?” Paul said, as he closed the door after his last client before lunch.
“That fancy car of yours break down in the parking lot or something?” his secretary asked. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and hauled out a purse the size of an overnight bag, ornamented with silver fringe and rhinestones. “Course I can give you a lift.”
“Thanks, and the ’Vette is running fine.”
She didn’t ask why he needed the ride in that case, just walked out the door he held for her and waited while he locked up. It was one of the things he valued about her; she knew when not to probe.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood in his garage with the door open, stowing the cover for the Harley in one of the bike’s storage compartments. He shrugged out of his suit coat and folded it into another compartment. He took his helmet and leather jacket off the hook on the wall and slipped both on.
Running his palm over the curve of the fairing, he let his eyes drift along the sweep of the exhaust pipes. It was a beautiful machine, and someone else needed to own it now.
He kicked in the stand and straddled the seat as he started the engine. For a moment he just stood there, feeling the power vibrate deep in his bones. Then he gunned it and peeled out of the garage with a squeal of tires.
Minutes later he turned into an alley stretching behind the block of buildings that included the theater. Parking the bike by the stage door, he removed the helmet and rapped loudly, hoping someone in the office would hear him.
The door swung open and an older man poked his head out. “Paul Taggart, as I live and breathe. What brings you to our back door?”
Paul waved at the motorcycle. “I brought in my auction donation, Lester. Is Belle here?”
“She sure is, but the auction’s not till Saturday.” Lester opened the door wider to let him in. “Don’t you want to keep ridin’ it for a few more days?”
Paul followed him along a dimly lit hallway. “Belle wants to put it on display in the lobby to drum up interest.”
They walked into an office whose walls were plastered with brightly colored posters of plays the theater had produced in the past, some classics, some written by local talent. “Belle, Paul’s brought his Harley for you.”
The tiny woman behind the desk practically leaped from behind it. “Aren’t you a generous donor? Letting us have your precious motorcycle early!” She clasped her hands to her breast and raised her eyes to what would have been the sky had they been outdoors. Her short, straight hair was bleached almost white except for the ends, which were dyed a deep teal. “I’ve already had Vincent set up a spotlight in the lobby to make it positively gleam. Can you two big strong men roll it in there for me?”
Paul held out the helmet and the leather coat. “You can add these to my donation.”
She accepted the two articles of clothing as though they were the crown jewels, widening her eyes in admiration. “Maybe you could autograph the helmet,” she said. “Mayor Paul Taggart.”
“I’m not the mayor anymore,” Paul said. “And nobody wants my signature except as a witness to their will.”
“You’re too modest, but I won’t pester you.”
“That’s a first,” Lester muttered under his breath. Paul gave him a wink as they followed Belle back down the hallway.
The two men wrestled the big bike into place under Belle’s supervision. The chrome gleamed in the artfully placed spotlight, and Paul felt a jab of regret. The Harley had been his dream since he was a teenager. He took his suit jacket from the storage compartment, sliding his arms into it and settling it on his shoulders.
“Ah, I know what this needs to make it the perfect display,” Belle said, trotting back to her office. She returned with the helmet and jacket. “We’ll create the sense that you’ll be back at any minute to roar off into the sunset.”
When Belle draped the leather jacket over the seat and positioned the empty helmet atop it, Paul turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“Hope it fetches a good price,” he said over his shoulder.
As the door swung shut behind him, Belle looked at Lester and then at her artistic arrangement. “What did I do wrong?”
Lester just shook his head knowingly. “A man and his hog. It’s not something you’d understand.”
Chapter 27
MR. CASTILLO, IT’S a pleasure to see you again.” Claire greeted them as they came through the front door of the gallery, her hand held out, a serene smile on her beautiful face. Julia envied her such composure in the presence of Carlos.
Her uncle shook Claire’s hand. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Arbuckle,” he said. “I understand you are helping my niece introduce her new work to the art world.”
“Yes, her Night Mares are extraordinarily powerful, so I’m excited about seeing their impact on our patrons. We have several influential critics attending the exhibition as well.”
“Paxton Hayes. You are brave women, both of you, to solicit his opinion.” Carlos smiled as he said it, and Julia let out her breath. She should have known he would be civil to Claire. After all, this was business, and Carlos was a businessman through and through.
Except when it came to protecting her. She was beginning to comprehend the depth of his commitment to her well-being, even if she didn’t agree with the results.
“I wanted my uncle to see how you’re going to display the paintings,” Julia said, feeling she needed to assert her presence in the exchange. “It plays up the strengths of the Night Mares.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, looking as pleased as if she’d never heard Julia’s approval before. She turned to stand beside Carlos, gesturing as she set the scene. “It will be evening, of course, so the illumination from the windows will be minimal. All the other paintings will be removed from the walls and the lights will be concentrated on Julia’s art. Our guests will enter where you did and be directed into the circle of paintings. I want their experience to be immediate and undiluted by other people’s comments.” She smile
d and gestured toward the entrance between the panels. “Shall we?”
Julia stepped forward with her uncle. She wanted to see his reaction to Claire’s display. As they came into the space, a Night Mare charged directly toward her. She ignored it and slid her gaze to her uncle’s face. He walked to the center of the arrangement and pivoted slowly. After a complete circle, he nodded once. “I understand your vision now. This will be a success.”
Julia wanted to know whose vision he understood, hers or Claire’s. However, he was already asking how the paintings would be priced. She had to settle for the satisfaction of hearing Carlos say the exhibit would be successful.
As her gaze skittered around the display, one painting caught her attention, the one Paul had admired. She’d offered it to him in payment for rescuing her and he’d turned it down. “Claire,” she said, interrupting the conversation, “I don’t want to sell this one. I’ll get one of the others shipped up here to replace it.”
“I can facilitate that,” Carlos surprised her by saying.
Claire’s eyes lit up. “How many more do you have?”
“Worthy of a public exhibit? Maybe three.”
“That’s marvelous. We can add all of them to the show.”
“You can return home with me to choose the ones you want,” Carlos said to Julia.
He thought he had set a neat trap, but she wasn’t falling into it. She shook her head. “There are things I need to finish up here. If you photograph the remaining Night Mares and e-mail me the images, I can tell you which ones I want.”
Her uncle bowed his head in agreement and a subtle acknowledgment that she had won that round.
“Now it’s time for my riding lesson,” Julia said.
Julia took Carlos back to the inn so she could change. She left him talking to Lyle about the antique rifle while she ran upstairs to throw on jeans and a white cotton blouse. As she walked to the door, she noticed the Civil War sword she’d bought for her uncle, wrapped in brown paper and propped up beside the mantel in her suite’s sitting room. Maybe this was a good time to give it to him, as a sort of peace offering. She smiled at the irony and picked up the weapon. Remembering Paul’s comment about the blade’s symbolism, she rummaged around in her purse for a penny and slipped it into her jeans pocket.
She found her uncle in the now-empty dining room with Lyle, inspecting a print of a battle fought near Sanctuary. The innkeeper smiled and excused himself when he saw Julia approaching. She hid the package behind her back with one hand and held out the penny to Carlos with the other. “I have something for you, but you have to buy it from me.”
Her uncle sent her a baffled look before he took the penny, standing with it in his hand.
“Give it back to me now,” she said, holding out her hand palm up, just the way she did when she fed carrots to Darkside.
He laid the penny on her palm with the same dubious expression, and she brought the sword around to present to him. “I found this in an antique store here and thought of you,” she said. She’d had to ask Claire to vouch for the check she used to purchase it, since the weapon was expensive and she didn’t want to put it on her credit card.
Carlos took it in both hands, saying, “But you were angry with me.”
“More sad than angry, and you are still the uncle I love.”
Relief chased the confusion from his face and he gave a little bow. “Thank you. From my heart.”
“Open it!”
He placed it on a heavy oak sideboard and carefully peeled the tape off, unfolding the paper from around her gift. The sword lay gleaming against the dull brown wrapping, its brass hilt and iron sheath showing the unmistakable patina of over a century’s age. “It’s a light cavalry saber from 1860,” Julia said, reciting what the proprietor of the store had told her.
Carlos touched the hilt. “This is a gift of great generosity.” His voice had a hitch in it and he blinked several times.
“You deserve it. Do you like it?” His profile was to her, and Julia couldn’t read his expression. She was worried he might already have something similar in his collection.
He turned and she thought she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes before he swept her into a bear hug. “It is perfect, mi querida. Like you.”
They held each other for a long moment, her uncle’s arms wrapped around her so tightly it was hard to breathe. Julia knew this was her uncle’s way of communicating his regret and his love for her without the words he found so hard to say.
He released her and dashed the back of one hand against his eyes. “But why did we need to exchange a penny?”
“My lawyer says the gift of a blade is symbolic; it means you wish to sever the relationship, which is the opposite of what I wanted the sword to do. So I couldn’t give it to you as a present. You had to buy it from me.” She kissed him on the cheek. “We should go.”
He rewrapped the saber with painstaking care and carried it outside to the sleek sedan he’d hired for the day, carefully supervising as the driver stowed it in the trunk. Once she and Carlos were settled in the back, her uncle said, “You mentioned a lawyer.”
Julia didn’t want to discuss Paul with her uncle. “I needed someone to draw up the agreement between Claire and me for the exhibition.” It was partially true.
“There are many kinds of lawyers, not all of them good.”
Julia waved an airy dismissal. “Oh, mine’s the best lawyer in town, a former two-term mayor.”
“Humph, a politician. Perhaps I should examine the agreement he drew up.” He was frowning and tapping his finger on the armrest between them.
She put her hand over his to still it. “Tío, this is my business now.”
He grunted but allowed her to change the subject to Sharon’s many equestrian accomplishments, including her Olympic gold medal. She hoped he would be so dazzled he would believe Sharon could teach a total beginner to control Darkside in six days. She didn’t mention she’d only ridden the stallion once, at a walk, with a lead line.
“Ms. Sydenstricker is not aware of your epilepsy?” her uncle asked, as the tires crunched over the gravel in the parking lot at Healing Springs Stables.
Julia glared at him as she gestured toward the driver and hissed, “No, and I don’t want her or anyone else here to know.”
Carlos had the grace to look guilty, and she knew he hadn’t considered the driver’s presence. He didn’t apologize but he did drop the subject.
She exploded out of the car, nearly bowling over the driver when she flung open the door he was attempting to hold for her. “Sorry,” she muttered, giving the man a grimace of a smile and hoping professional drivers had a code of confidentiality similar to lawyers and priests.
Her uncle came around to stand beside her and survey the immaculately maintained buildings and fences with obvious approval. “Your friend keeps her place well.”
“She’s a pro,” Julia said, starting toward the indoor riding ring.
When Julia had explained she was bringing her uncle, Sharon insisted on a controlled environment. “It’s bad enough to have Taggart breathing fire about you riding Darkside. I don’t need a family member on my back too. I’ll have him tacked up and ready so we keep it simple.”
“What about his bridle?” Julia asked, remembering their previous difficulties.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Now she was glad Sharon had the foresight to give her uncle only the briefest glimpse of her mount before she got on him. As they passed through the barn, several stable hands greeted Julia. “Back for another joyride on Darth Horse?” one asked.
“I like to push my luck,” she said.
Carlos turned to her with a question in his eyes. Julia shrugged. “Stable humor.”
Their feet sank into the deep, cushiony mixture of sand and sawdust as they walked through the big open door of the indoor riding ring. Shafts of sunshine speared from high windows onto the ring’s dark surface, motes of dust dancing in them. Julia blinked a few tim
es as her eyes adjusted to the change in light level. Then she saw Darkside standing on the other side of the ring, Sharon holding his head.
He looked…unhappy. That was the only word for it. His back was bunched up under the saddle, and he kept shifting from one hoof to another as though he couldn’t get comfortable. She forgot all about her uncle as she jogged across the ring to soothe him.
“What is it, buddy?” she said while she ran her hand down his neck. It felt tense too.
She looked at Sharon.
“We had a little disagreement about the bridle,” Sharon said. “So he’s grumpy. You might want to rethink your timing.”
Carlos walked up, his face like a thundercloud. “This is the horse you are learning to ride on?”
Darkside threw up his head at the angry tone. Sharon staggered slightly as she hung onto the bridle.
“Easy, boy,” Julia said, taking the reins from the other woman and leaning her forehead against Darkside’s. “I’m here. We’re going to have a ride together.”
“You cannot ride this horse,” Carlos said, planting his feet apart. “He is a stallion.”
“He’s my whisper horse,” Julia said, keeping her voice neutral and soothing. “We understand each other.”
“What are you talking about?” Carlos hovered, clearly wanting to separate her from the horse but afraid to set off the big creature with Julia so near him.
“Julia and Darkside have a special bond,” Sharon said. “They help each other out. That’s what a whisper horse is about.”
Carlos spun to face Sharon. Julia watched in astonishment as her usually imperturbable uncle flushed and took a step back from the tall horsewoman. “My apologies,” he said as he held out his hand. “I am Carlos Castillo.”
“Sharon Sydenstricker,” she said easily, giving his hand a firm shake.
“You are the owner here,” he said, gesturing around the building. “It is very impressive.”
“It’s right nice of you to say so.”
Country Roads Page 27
