“You’re a natural. Must be your visual ability. You understand angles better than a lot of experienced players. And you’ve got strong hands.”
“Years of holding palettes and paintbrushes.” Julia braced her hands on the edge of the table and leaned on them. “You’re a tough teacher.”
“I want to make sure you’ve got a firm grasp of the basics.” He opened the door and held up two fingers to someone she couldn’t see. “That way you won’t get into bad habits when I’m not around.”
Julia understood. This was a gift he wanted to give her before she went off to the glitter of international fame.
“You got quiet all of a sudden.” He came up behind her and wound his arms around her waist, nuzzling his lips against the side of her neck.
“My electrolytes are depleted. I need that beer.” His breath blew warm against her skin, sending wavelets of pleasure cascading down her spine. She crossed her arms over his, wanting to stay wrapped in him like this forever.
“I’d say get a room, but you have one.” The waitress gave Julia a wink as she bustled over to the round table and set down two mugs and two bottles. “Lock the door behind me, will ya? The Black Bear is a family bar.” She chuckled as she pulled the door closed.
Paul slid one arm out from under Julia’s and pulled her toward the table. “Let’s get you some electrolytes, otherwise known as Sam Adams.”
Julia let him settle her and himself in the chairs. She grabbed the bottle before he could pour it into a mug and tilted it back for a long, hard swallow of beer, like the cowboys in movies before they slammed through the saloon doors to shoot it out in the street.
She put her bottle down on the table with a thunk. “I’m not leaving.”
He’d been lounging back, his chair balanced on two legs, watching her with an admiring gleam in his eyes. Now his chair’s front legs banged onto the floor. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Sometimes you’re such a lawyer,” she said. “I mean I want to stay here with you.”
“We’ve had this conversation already.” His fingertips beat against the table.
“No, we had a different one. Because I didn’t tell you the truth.”
His fingers stilled.
She rotated her beer bottle in her hands, not sure if she should look him in the eye or if it would be better not to see his reaction. She lifted her eyes to his. She could read nothing; his mask was in place. She summoned up the courage to keep watching him. “I love you. Not because you give me great orgasms, but because of who you are. If you make me leave, I’ll be miserable, no matter what city you think I should drag myself off to in the name of my career.”
He surged out of his chair and walked over to the foosball table, smacking the goalie rod so it bounced across the playing surface. “How do I spell this out for you? I don’t want you here.”
She felt as though the rod had slammed into her own chest. “Why not?” She tried to make her voice strong, but failed entirely.
He rounded on her. “Because I can’t leave. How do you think I’ll feel when I can’t go with you to celebrate your opening in Paris or London or wherever? What about traveling to find new inspiration for your art? You’d have to go alone while I’d be back here in Sanctuary, pretending I wasn’t missing you and worrying about you every second of the day.” He paced back and forth in front of her. “You’ll be growing and absorbing new things and I’ll be stagnating here. One day you’ll come home and wonder what the hell you’re doing with this ignorant, unsophisticated hick.”
“That won’t happen,” she whispered.
“The hell it won’t.” He dropped back into his chair.
“Maybe you’re not giving your brother enough credit.”
“What my brother has can’t be fixed. You don’t understand what it’s like to live with an incurable disease.”
How wrong he was about that.
“As long as Eric is here, I am my brother’s keeper.”
“Have you asked Jimmy what he thinks?”
“He got drunk when he thought I might take a job in Washington. That’s all the answer I need.”
“Are you sure that’s why he did it? Maybe he felt guilty about you not taking the job because of him.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She braced herself. “I know what it’s like to have people assume I need to be protected without asking me. Your brother went through a very tough period, and you came home to help him with it. You’re still seeing him as he was then. It might be time for both of you to look at it from a different perspective.”
Couldn’t Paul see how similar he was to Carlos? No, because she was still withholding an important element of her life from him.
“I’m not your uncle, if that’s what you’re thinking.” It was uncanny how he’d read her mind. “My situation is entirely different.”
She wrestled with herself, trying to summon the courage to tell him about her epilepsy. Every time she began to form the words, her throat closed up. Paul already thought she needed protecting from herself. How much worse would it be if he knew there was a reason for Carlos’s constant concern?
“Will you talk to your brother? If not for your sake, then for mine?” She attempted an appeal to his chivalrous side.
He looked away. “I spoke to his AA sponsor. He painted a pretty bleak picture.” He brought his gaze back to hers and his tone softened. “You need to be realistic about this.”
Panic hit her as she realized he was determined to sacrifice both of them for his brother. She stood up. “Look at Darkside. Everyone gave up on him except Sharon. She knew he just needed someone to believe in him. Maybe your brother needs you to believe in him.”
His face hardened to stone. “Are you accusing me of encouraging my brother to drink?”
“Of course not.” She put her hands out as though to push his question away. She was making a huge mess of this. “I just want to find a way for us to be together.”
“Sometimes life doesn’t give you a way,” Paul said.
“It doesn’t matter that I love you?” She offered her heart once more, hoping he wouldn’t rip it out of her chest.
He dropped his hand into his lap. “You don’t know that.”
“If you’re going to reject me, at least don’t patronize me.” She tried to whip up some anger to give herself the strength to survive the rest of the conversation. “I’m very clear on my feelings for you.”
“I’m not rejecting you.” She thought she heard a rasp of pain in his voice.
“What do you call it?”
“Self-preservation.”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap.” She couldn’t believe he was back to trying to convince her he was protecting himself, not her. “Just take me back to the inn. I’m too ticked off to talk to you any more tonight.”
The look he gave her killed her rant. It was filled with longing and regret, pain and resignation, and she could swear something that looked like it might be what she hoped for. Then he said, “Sweetheart, we won’t ever talk about this again.”
Julia hovered inside the front door of the inn until the Corvette growled away. The ride home had been silent and excruciating as she kept her gaze away from the one place she wanted to look: Paul’s face. She’d told him to stay in the car and, infuriatingly, he’d done as she asked.
As the engine noise faded into the quiet night, she jogged back down the steps and onto the sidewalk, striding along the quiet main street of Sanctuary, her tears giving the streetlamps halos. The headlights of a cruising car caught her in their glare, and she turned toward a dimly lit window display in one of the closed stores, swiping at the wetness on her cheeks.
Arguing with Paul was like running head-on into that plate glass window. She hurled herself against his conviction that he knew better and bounced off, rubbing her head at the pain of the impact. How could she break the damned glass and get through to him?
&nb
sp; She knew how: tell him about her epilepsy. Maybe he would pity her, but at least he would understand she wasn’t the perfect woman he kept holding her up as. He’d see her as flawed, as weak, as someone who needed his protection.
“No!” She slapped the glass with her open palms, the impact stinging.
Playing the pity card was out. She’d worked too damned hard to tear off Carlos’s suffocating cocoon.
She started walking again, turning down the street to her temporary studio. She leaped up the three porch steps and slammed open the door. Light from the neighboring houses filtered through the glass walls at the back of the room so she could see her painting of Darkside on its easel. In the dimness, his gaze looked uncertain, confused.
She mashed the light switches to see if the impression lingered when the picture was better lit. “That’s not right,” she said, frowning. Darkside had never been uncertain. He’d been willing to pay the price to keep his spirit from being broken. There was strength in his anger.
She understood and she was going to stay pissed off as long as she could. Because the alternative was to believe Paul didn’t want her or her love.
Whirling, she stomped over to the counter to pick up her palette and brushes. By the time she was done, Darkside was going to be the scariest horse in the world of art.
Chapter 29
JULIA?”
A woman’s soft voice tugged Julia out of her dream-infested sleep. Her eyelids felt so heavy, she could only manage to open them to slits. She tried to lift her head but yelped as neck muscles that were contorted in an uncomfortable position spasmed. A blanket of misery weighed her down even though she was too groggy to remember why.
“I’m here,” she croaked, realizing she was huddled on the derelict sofa in her studio. She connected the voice with Claire and struggled to push herself upright.
“Oh my God, are you all right? What happened?” Claire knelt in front of her, her face set in lines of concern.
Julia kneaded the knot of discomfort in her shoulder. “I painted all night and was too tired to walk back to the inn. What time is it?”
Claire slid onto the couch beside her. “A little after ten. I’ve gotten a few worried phone calls. Where’s your cell phone?”
“It might be in the garbage can.” She’d turned it off and tossed it there to keep herself from waiting for a call that wouldn’t come. Now she remembered why she felt so awful. “Did Carlos call you?”
“And Paul.”
His name sent a jagged edge of pain ripping through her. “He has some nerve worrying about me.”
Claire’s gaze turned soft. “He practically begged me to find you.”
“We had a disagreement.”
“Hmm. Verna told me he looked like someone dragged him through the woods backwards, and you look like, well, it’s hard to describe.”
“That bad?”
Claire smiled. “Your eyelids are red and swollen. You have paint pretty much everywhere, including your eyebrows, and I wouldn’t want to be the one who has to untangle your hair.”
That sent another jab through Julia as she remembered the feel of Paul’s fingers gently working the snarls out of her hair. She hitched in a breath as she absorbed the blow. Changing the subject seemed like a good idea. “What did Carlos want?”
There was a moment of silence before Claire answered. “To let you know the extra paintings you requested are on the way here.” She scanned Julia’s face. “I’ve known Paul for years, and he has a protective streak a mile wide. Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Julia shook her head, trying to retrieve some of the anger she’d felt the night before. Maybe she’d poured it all out onto the canvas. Her gaze strayed to the easel, and she sat up straight.
Darkside glared out at the world with a ferocity she thought would make most viewers take a step backward.
Claire followed the direction of her glance and gasped. “That’s how you see your whisper horse?”
“One side of him. It’s his anger that gave him the strength to survive in a bad situation.” Satisfaction warmed Julia as she took in the changes she’d made to her work.
Claire stood and walked over to the painting, stopping a few feet away. She stood silent for several moments, and Julia could see the connoisseur in her stance and focus. “I see it now. You’ve layered the anger over the vulnerability. He’s using the anger but not defined by it. There’s a yearning underneath.” Claire turned back to Julia. “He wants to be loved, like all of us.”
Julia felt her defenses disintegrate into dust. She dropped her head into her hands as a sob racked her body.
“I’m so sorry.” Claire sat down beside her and drew her into a hug.
Julia leaned against her friend. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve known Paul for all of ten days, and I feel this horrible about leaving him.”
“Don’t leave him then.”
Julia lifted her head to see something like hope flit across Claire’s face. “I’m trying. He’s not cooperating.”
“That’s interesting, because Paul once commented that Tim couldn’t force me to leave Sanctuary.”
“Tim tried?” Julia pulled away from Claire and used the corner of her smock to wipe her nose.
“He had what he thought were good reasons.”
“So does Paul. He’s just wrong.”
Claire laughed and covered Julia’s hands with hers. “You’re exactly what Paul needs. You remind him of the person he used to be. I hope you won’t give up.”
Julia thought of Paul turning away as she told him she loved him. Her shoulders sagged. “I’m running out of ammunition.”
“Then you need to reload. Go see your whisper horse. That’s what I did when Tim got difficult.”
“It’s hard to picture your husband as anything other than madly in love with you,” Julia said, thinking back to the dinner party where she’d envied the way they looked at each other across the table.
“Oh, he was madly in love with me back then.” Claire stood. “He just couldn’t handle it.”
Claire had driven her back to the inn, and after one glance in the car’s rearview mirror, Julia had been glad she did. It had taken over an hour, but she was finally free of paint and her hair waved in a smooth, civilized fashion. Now she prowled around the table where her cell phone sat, also cleaned up after its sojourn in the trash.
Did she have the courage to invite Paul to see her ride Darkside?
It was the last way she could think of to shock him into believing she could handle herself and her life.
But could she? Exhaustion and despair surrounded her like a fog, not the best condition in which to deal with a high-strung horse. Being rejected again might just destroy her.
Deciding she didn’t want to feel like this any longer, she swiped at the phone, barely catching it as it spun off the table. Punching the speed dial for his office, she indulged in a moment of cowardice.
“Hi, Verna, it’s Julia Castillo. Do you know what time Paul will be finished with work today?”
“He’s running ’em through quick, mostly likely because he’s surly as a bear. I’d say he’ll be done around three thirty.”
“Would you ask him to meet me then at Healing Springs Stables? Tell him it’s important.”
“He should be done with his appointment in about ten minutes. You want to ask him yourself?”
“No, no, I can’t. I’m, er, going to be in a meeting the rest of the day.” Julia smacked herself on the forehead for not thinking of a better excuse. What she intended to do was take a long nap.
“I guess there’s a reason for his bad attitude,” Verna said. “I’ll make sure he gets to the stable. Don’t you worry about that, hon.”
Paul complained about everyone in a small town knowing your business, but Julia liked having allies.
“You want to ride outdoors without me even being in the paddock with you?” Sh
aron bent her head and rubbed her hand across the back of her neck as she considered Julia’s request. “That’s mighty risky.”
“Paul’s coming to watch,” Julia said.
Sharon’s head came up. “You tryin’ to prove something?”
Julia nodded.
“Well, Taggart will probably rip me a new one, but I guess I understand a thing or two about proving yourself.” She glanced at her watch before she turned and headed toward the tack room. “We got about forty minutes before he’s due. Let’s get the kinks worked out of Darkside before then. He’s in his usual paddock. You go tell him what’s up while I get the tack.”
Julia peeled off for the paddock. She loved that Sharon expected her to explain what she needed to the horse. They both believed Darkside would help her out if he understood.
The stallion was trotting in circles at the far end of the field as he watched a horse being schooled in the paddock next to him. The beauty of his movements made her stop so she could savor the way his muscles rippled under the dark satin of his coat. After a long moment of admiration, Julia slipped inside the gate and started toward him across the springy grass. Darkside’s head swung around, and he whinnied shrilly before hurling himself into a series of stiff-legged bucks that brought him closer and closer to her.
“Hey, buddy, it’s me,” she called, freezing in place. Maybe she had overestimated her influence over him. She fumbled in her pocket as his big hooves pounded the turf like a boxer hitting a punching bag. “I’ve got carrots.”
He kept coming, over a thousand pounds of muscle and bone she had no way to stop. She held out the puny bit of carrot, feeling like a lunatic. “You want a treat?”
He planted his front feet and skidded to a halt inches away from her outstretched hand. After blowing out a couple of loud breaths, he lowered his head and delicately lipped the carrot off her palm.
As the adrenaline drained away, her knees nearly buckled under her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as much to hold herself up as to thank him. “I should have trusted you, shouldn’t I?” she crooned in his ear as he went through his usual exploration of her pockets. “You were just playing with me.”
Country Roads Page 29
