The Widows' Gallery

by Marilyn Baron

  “You don’t know anything about me,” Tack countered.

  Well, she wasn’t going to see his house tonight, and he wasn’t going to be invited back to her bedroom. She didn’t want to see where he lived. She was sure it was a hovel, and she pictured that poor darling Isabel having to endure living with a father who had the temperament of an angry bear awakened before he’d completed his hibernation.

  She reached for the handle of the car door, but the valet stepped up.

  “Allow me.”

  “Thank you,” Abby huffed. “At least one of you is a gentleman.”

  Tightening her seatbelt, she sat there with her arms folded and mouth welded tight. Tack started the car, gunned the engine, and drove down the highway, exceeding the speed limit.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Tack asked.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “How about, for starters, I had a wonderful dinner, the food was great, and I’m sorry I threw a spoon at you, ruining your best white shirt.”

  Abigail exclaimed, “I’m not sorry about any of it. I will admit the dinner was good in spite of you.”

  Tack barreled down the road in silence until he pulled up in front of Longley House, slammed on the brakes, and shut off the engine.

  “You are a spoiled brat, Abigail Longley. I don’t know why I even bother with you. This is not the way I wanted this night to end.”

  As Abby unhooked her seatbelt and tried to open the passenger car door, Tack pressed the auto lock, then reached over and grabbed her shoulders. She was trapped.

  “We are not done here.”

  “I think we are,” yelled Abby. “And now I know why your wife cheated on you. You’re an overbearing control freak.”

  “My wife left me because she died. At least get your story straight.”

  “You look like you want to slap me, Tack,” Abby taunted. “Why don’t you just go ahead and do it?”

  “Because as soon as you stop talking I’m going to tell you exactly what I want to do to you.”

  Abby opened her mouth to a perfectly formed O. In one motion, Tack slid back the driver’s seat, pulled her roughly across the console and positioned her astride his lap. His breathing was ragged.

  Her heart was beating like a drum, and she could feel his erection pulsing as he positioned her on top of it. She squirmed as he started to grind against her.

  He pushed up her dress, pulled down her panties, and kissed her while he stroked her until she was wet. She threw her arms around his neck, kissed him back greedily, and mewled as he unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock, and hastily maneuvered it into her. She threw back her head and screamed as he thrust into her warmth again and again, like savages, until they both came. Exhausted, they collapsed on top of each other.

  “Screw you, Tack,” Abby growled.

  “I think you just did.”

  There was no way he was going to get the last word.

  “Now let me out,” Abby ordered. Tack unlocked the car doors, opened the driver’s side door, and lifted her out. Trying to maintain a modicum of dignity, she pulled up her panties, pulled down her dress, and somehow managed to stay upright on her extraordinarily high heels. When she tried to walk away, her hips swayed with a crooked tilt.

  “Wait. You forgot something.” Tack handed Abigail her clutch through the driver’s side window. She walked away with her head held high, attempting to make a dramatic exit.

  Although she wasn’t Southern, she looked back at him and drawled, “Y’all’s car needs a tune-up. Thanks for mine.”

  Giggling, and not waiting for his reply, she fumbled in her bag for her keys, switched off the alarm, and limped into her house.

  The last noise she heard was the spiteful roar of Tack’s engine revving up frantically as if for a qualifying round at the Daytona Motor Speedway.

  And with that, Abby closed the door, the book, and the chapter on Tack Garrity.

  Chapter Nine

  Tack stomped into the house like a raging bull stampeding the medieval streets of Pamplona. Then he proceeded to pace the length of his foyer. He needed to calm down. He needed a drink. He wanted to scream. He desperately felt like throwing something. He’d thought about calling Aidan to come over and talk it out, but he knew Aidan was trying to get it on with his new lady, Natalie. He hoped that date was going better than the one he had just been on.

  Tack took off his jacket and pulled off his shirt, tossing both on the floor, then loosened his belt. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

  He was a reasonable man. Rational and calm. But damn! That Abigail Longley—she had a vicious temper, and she’d lashed out at him like a viper. So what if he deserved it? He’d attacked her like a rutting bull with no regard to whether she was willing. He’d gone off half-cocked—no, fully cocked—and he’d forgotten to pull out the condom or pull out in time. The last time that had happened, the last time he had lost his senses with a woman, was with Renata, and she had become pregnant with Isabella. You’d think he would have learned his lesson. But God, he wanted Abigail so much that, like an animal in heat, he had taken what he wanted. Because he’d lost control. Try a little tenderness, why don’t you, Tack?

  Abigail had responded to his advances, but this was not how he’d envisioned the night would end. He’d imagined waking up tangled in the sheets with Abigail in a soft bed, her bed, taking his time with her, sinking into her like he was diving into a cool spring, and surfacing to see that face, that lovely face, and losing himself in her perfect body.

  Instead, she’d stomped off and said she never wanted to see him again. How had that happened? Okay, maybe he had moved too fast, but he was ready, more than ready, and she was hot and ready, too. He knew women, and unless he’d seriously misread the signals, she’d wanted him, but he should have taken a step back, taken it slower, like his father had advised.

  But now it was too late. He’d blown it. Oh, it couldn’t be over. He couldn’t give up. Somehow, he had to get her back. But how the hell was he going to accomplish the impossible? There had to be a way. Pull your head out of your ass, Tack Garrity, and think.

  Sprawled on the couch, his cold drink balanced on his bare stomach, his clothes strewn everywhere, it came to him. Isabella!

  Chapter Ten

  The women gathered at breakfast early to get a jump-start on the new day. A day that would bring them twenty-four hours closer to the gallery opening.

  “Aidan’s people are already removing the sawdust,” said Natalie. “We should be able to complete the interior in the next few days. Then we can start hanging the artwork. The frames are all ready.”

  “And how was your business meeting with Aidan last night?” Abby teased.

  “Oh, it went surprisingly well,” Natalie admitted.

  “Is that why he’s fast-tracking the project?” Victoria said.

  Natalie blushed.

  “He certainly is moving fast,” Abby agreed. “I noticed you never made it home last night.”

  “And how would you know I never came home?” Natalie inquired. “Were you waiting up for me?”

  “I came home early and went looking for you. I’ve always wondered what an architect’s house looks like.”

  “It’s amazing. He’s amazing. I think I’m in love.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Abby.

  “But I’m afraid when the job is over he’ll move on. It’s just that we’ve been working so closely together, and maybe it’s just proximity, or maybe he feels obligated because I’m the client.”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” said Victoria. “It’s gone beyond proximity and obligation.”

  “It’s taken me five years to open up, and if this turns out not to be real, I’m going to be hurt all over again.”

  “Don’t expect the worse,” Abby said. “I’ve known Aidan a long time. He’s a good guy. Where’s Jane this morning?”

  “You know Jane. She wants to make sure all her p
aintings are ready, so she’s working overtime.”

  “I notice she’s spending a lot of time with that artist, Ethan Logan,” Abby said.

  Natalie crunched a piece of bacon and took a bite of her omelet. “They’re together day and night. She is totally crushing on him. She doesn’t have much experience with men. I mean, she’s a virgin—or least she was. I hope he doesn’t hurt her. But how much do we really know about this guy? We know he’s a talented artist, but other than that, is he good enough for Jane?”

  Abby shrugged and grabbed a piece of bacon. “Victoria, what about Mr. Waterbury? How did the dinner go last night?”

  Victoria’s face was flushed.

  “Not you too.”

  “He’s really not as bad as we thought. I mean, I know he’s trying to take Portrait of Venus, but he told me the whole story about that poor family, the one the painting belonged to. Joshua is just trying to do his job.”

  “Oh, it’s Joshua now,” Abby teased. “What did he tell you?”

  “He told me the story of Benjamin, the Auschwitz survivor, the only one left of his family. That painting meant a lot to him. He said the woman in the picture, Venus, or rather Botticelli’s model, Simonetta, looked exactly like his mother, the one who was killed in the concentration camp. It’s for that reason he wanted to get it back. His father was a wealthy banker who bought the picture from an Italian art dealer for their engagement. He used to call his wife Venus, and that picture was a symbol of their great love. When they saw what was happening in Germany, they were going to sell that picture to get enough money to escape. And then, before they could make arrangements, they got home one day and found this Nazi officer had moved in and taken over their home and all their possessions. They couldn’t sell the painting, and they were all shipped off to Auschwitz. Benjamin and his two younger sisters, too. When they got off the train, they were separated, and he never saw his family again. He’s been trying to track down that painting since the end of the war. He just wants to see his mother’s face once more.”

  “What a tragic story. You know, Louis used to tell me I looked like the Venus in the painting at the Uffizi Gallery.”

  “You totally do, Abby,” Victoria agreed. “The woman in that portrait could be you. It’s spooky how much it looks like you. Zach used to call me his goddess of love. And it’s eerie how that portrait connects us. It was supposed to be the centerpiece of our gallery. What will we do when we lose it? Imagine! We had a genuine Botticelli masterpiece right here.”

  “Much as I hate to lose her, I’m glad Benjamin is going to be compensated for his loss,” Abby said. “I’m still waiting for Brandon to get back to me about the authenticity of the claim, but everything seems to support Mr. Woodbury’s—er, Joshua’s—claim. Victoria, what about that picture on our Web site? It’s part of our identity. And Portrait of Venus is all over the masterpiece cards we’re printing to sell in the gift shop.”

  “I talked to Joshua about it, and he said if we add a line to the description label of the portrait, giving credit to the Galleria degli Uffizi, we have the museum’s permission to use it. They’re very grateful that the portrait will be back in Italian hands.”

  “So tell us more about Joshua. Is he married?”

  “No, he travels all around the world authenticating art and trying to win restitution for victims of the Holocaust. He said he will stay in Lobster Cove until the opening, which gives me just a few weeks to find out if there’s something there. I hated that man until I met him, after all.”

  Victoria paused. “Now it’s your turn on the hot seat, Abby. How did the dinner go with your hunky cruise tour captain?”

  Abby frowned. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “Sorry, now you’ve piqued our interest,” Victoria said. “You have to talk about it.”

  “I got home early, and none of you were home. Let’s just say Tack is not my type. End of story.”

  “There’s more you’re not telling us,” Natalie accused. “Was it because of the chemistry? Did the captain’s kisses leave you cold?”

  “Oh, there was chemistry all right. Too much chemistry. He overstepped.”

  “Did he attack you?” Victoria asked, placing her hand to her throat.

  “Let’s just say we attacked each other.”

  “Don’t stop there,” Natalie insisted. “Where exactly did this encounter take place?”

  “In his car in the driveway.”

  “You couldn’t wait until you got upstairs?”

  “It all happened so fast—and then it was over. And now we’re over.”

  “Honey, I’m sorry,” Victoria said.

  “I’m not. Tack and I are like oil and water. Louis and I never fought, but Tack and I spent the entire night sparring.”

  “That’s called attraction,” Natalie said. “If you weren’t attracted to him, you wouldn’t bother to fight with him.”

  “Did he use protection?” Victoria wanted to know.

  Abby recalled the events of the previous evening. “He went from zero to sixty in one second flat, so no, but it doesn’t matter. I’m infertile. Louis and I tried to conceive for five years. We tried everything, and nothing worked. I have a built-in birth control system. Enough talk about Tack Garrity. We need to get to work. Victoria, I want to review the marketing materials and the invitation list for the opening. And Natalie, if you can tear yourself away from Aidan, could you check with Chef about the food for the event? Our theme will be international, since we’re going to feature art from around the world. As unsuccessful as my evening with Tack was, tell Chef to check out a new restaurant called the Crow’s Nest. I understand they do catering, and the food was fabulous.”

  “Right.”

  The doorbell chimes went off.

  “I’ll get it,” Abby said.

  When she opened the door, her jaw dropped.

  “Isabella?”

  “Abigail!” she cried and threw herself against Abby, wrapping her arms around Abby’s legs.

  “Hi, honey. What are you doing here so early in the morning? Don’t you have school?”

  “No, silly, it’s Saturday.”

  Abby looked at the circular driveway and saw Tack’s BMW crawl down toward Hidden Cove Drive—Tack slinking away like a slimy coward.

  “Did your daddy drop you off?”

  “Yes, he has a ’scursion today, and I asked if I could visit you, and he said he thought that was a great idea. Grandma said Daddy is a horse’s ninny.”

  “Well, I’d have to agree with your Grandma. How did your daddy know I’d be home?”

  “He called the Archie Tek, and he told him.”

  “Oh, your daddy knows Aidan Ames?”

  “Yes, he’s Daddy’s best friend.”

  “Of course he is.” Abby fumed. Now Tack was spying on her and using her as a babysitter without even asking her permission. Like he didn’t ask her permission in the car last night. That’s just the kind of guy he was. Did he hope to get to her through Isabella? He knew the child was her weak spot. Damn you, Tack Garrity.

  “Are you and my daddy having a fight?”

  Abby shrugged. “Did he tell you that?”

  “He’s just sad. He said he made a big mistake.”

  Abby shook her head. Now he regrets hooking up with me. It’s a little late for that.

  “Well, honey, come on in. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

  “Yes, Grandma made me pancakes.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. You’ve already been to Grandma’s house this morning?”

  “We live with Grandma.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. Tack had to be poorer than she’d thought if he lived with his mother. Well, she’d just heard on TV that one of every three young people lives with their parents. It was a sign of the times. Although you’d think that someone Tack’s age, with a child, might have ventured out on his own. Instead of driving a little boat around the bay looking for whales.

  Abby looked at Isabella. She was w
earing her tutu again, and it was on inside out.

  “This was my Mommy’s. She was a ballerina. I wear it all the time.”

  “Yes, I noticed that. You know, later today you and I are going to go on a shopping trip into town. I’m going to get you some pretty new clothes. Would you like that?”

  Isabella clapped her hands. “Yes, I love to shop, but Daddy doesn’t like shopping.”

  “Okay, now, come on in and meet my friends.”

  Abby took Isabella’s hand and walked her into the kitchen.

  “Everyone, this is Isabella Garrity.”

  Everyone gathered around Isabella and fussed over her as she announced, “My name is Queen Isabella, and I’m going to marry The Prince of Whales.”

  “I think he’s already taken, sweetheart,” said Victoria, patting Isabella on the head.

  “Not that Prince, the Prince of Whales, like the whales in the ocean.”

  “Oh,” said Natalie. “You are adorable.”

  “What a beauty,” agreed Natalie, touching Isabella’s sun-kissed ringlets.

  “How long are you staying with us?” Abby wanted to know.

  “Daddy said I could stay all day.”

  “Well, isn’t that wonderful.” Abby blew out a breath. “You can follow me around today and be my shadow.”

  “What’s a shadow?”

  “A little helper.”

  Isabella flashed a smile and danced around like a ballerina. “I’m going to be a shadow.”

  Jane wandered into the kitchen. “Who do we have here?”

  “This is Isabella Garrity, Tack’s little girl,” Abby said. “Otherwise known as Queen Isabella.”

  “Oh!” Jane’s face lit up. “I have to paint her.” She turned to Isabella. “May I paint you?”

  Isabella looked up at Abby with a smile. “Would that be okay?”

  “Of course. That’s a great idea, Jane. Isabella, why don’t you follow Miss Jane up to her studio, and she’ll have you sit for her while she paints your picture. Make sure you two avoid the construction site in the gallery. It’s still a mess.”

  Jane took Isabella’s hand, and they left the room chatting together.

  “Now, what’s that all about?” Victoria asked. “I thought you said you and Tack had a falling out.”