Summer sagged, disappointed and bone tired. “Tomorrow then?”
He turned her into his arms and pulled her against him. “Yes, if I can get in contact with him, we’ll go see him tomorrow. And Adelina’s and Mrs. Heigl. Apparently she has one, too.”
Being held by this man was getting to be an addiction. The day caught up with her, so much time in his presence, so much revealed. Summer gently extracted herself. “I need a bath and a glass of wine.”
Tom leaned down and kissed her, nothing messy and embarrassing, but not a swoop-in either. Jonathan stood, arms crossed, amusement on his face, watching the two of them.
Tom broke the kiss and set her away from him. “My grandmother is having dinner tomorrow night. I’d like you both to come.”
The jitters were back. “Without even asking her?”
Tom smiled. “Don’t have to. Friends have standing invitations. Please come, both of you.”
“I’d love to,” Jonathan said. “I’ve heard a lot about your grandmother. I’d love to meet her.”
“Then, it’s settled?” Tom looked down at her, hopeful expectation in his gaze, and she couldn’t turn him down, even though her stomach jumped to join her nerves. The first time she’d had dinner there she hadn’t been sleeping with him. Meg suspected something. This definitely wasn’t a good idea, but for Tom she couldn’t say no.
She nodded, swallowing a big lump.
“I’ll call you later.” He kissed her brow, his hand rubbing her back as if he sensed her distress. A quick handshake with Jonathan, and he was out the door.
And all the life sucked out of her world.
“I’m going to take a bath.” She suited action to words.
Jonathan began stacking the paintings. “Sounds fine,cher. I’ll go find us some dinner.”
“Whatever.” She took the stairs two at a time and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her. Too bad the world with its Mirandas and fake paintings and life decisions couldn’t be closed out as easily.
££££££
Summer groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head. Morning sunlight drenched the room. The darn birds raucously chirped again, and Tom wasn’t next to her to go chase them off. He’d worked all night on a stakeout. He’d called her at six a.m. on his way home for some sleep. Howard Snidely was leaving town today for the weekend and not available until Monday. Bret would be in early to fingerprint her, but Tom preferred to go with her. She refused. He needed to sleep, and she could take care of herself.
She lifted the pillow to squint at the clock. It was either 8 or 9 a.m. She couldn’t focus well enough to figure it out.
She tossed the pillow and rose out of bed in one motion. Showering and dressing were an easier feat to accomplish. The coffee maker hated her. She put the coffee grounds in, put the water in, put the carafe in the slot, but it was leaking water mixed with soggy coffee grounds from the top. By the time she’d cleaned up the mess, she decided stopping at Clem’s for a to-go cup was a much better idea.
She grabbed her purse and keys and went to her rental car. In about ten minutes, she was parked in front of Clem’s Restaurant. Inside, the breakfast crowd had dispersed. Only a few tables were occupied.
Clem Harlow stood in the entryway, a menu in his hand. “Good morning. Summer, right?”
“Yes.” She reached out to shake his hand.
He held her hand for a moment, placing his other hand over the top. “Walter spoke highly of you. I was pleased and honored to win your paintings and be able to hang them here.”
She smiled, touched. “I’m pleased you like them,” she said. “I’d love to see them.”
He dropped her hands. “Step right this way. Did you come in for breakfast?”
“Actually, just coffee to go right now. Maybe lunch later.”
“We can do that.” He told a waitress to bring a to-go cup of coffee and led her to the booth beneath her paintings. “One of my favorite places on earth— the reservoir.”
“Mine, too. At the time. Seems like I painted that scenery a lot.” She smiled at the man. Truth was, she hadn’t really had the exposure to the world then, but regardless these were still some of her favorites. Getting the water, the sky, and the reflection right had always been the hardest and given her the greatest sense of accomplishment. “May I lift these off the wall? I’m putting an authentication symbol on the back.”
“Certainly.” Clem helped her lift down the paintings one at a time. “Any reason why?”
“It’s something I added recently, so those who have my paintings will know they are true Summer LeFey’s.” She dug in her bag for the marker, added the symbols on both paintings next to her scrawled signature and a ten-year-old date. Clem took them and hung them again.
“I suppose that’s something you have to worry about, you being a big name now.” Clem stepped down from the bench, grinning. “And I have her paintings on my wall.”
Summer smiled. “Yes, you have the real deal.”
The waitress delivered the coffee. She tossed the marker in her bag and dug for some change. “Coffee’s on the house. Sure was sorry to hear about your grandfather.” Clem walked her to the front door and held it open. “Come back again, now.”
“That’s sweet, thank you. I will.” She waited until she was on the sidewalk to juggle her coffee and look for her keys. She walked toward her car, bemused by Clem’s polite adoration and frustrated with the black hole at the bottom of her cavernous bag.
She looked up and came to a stop.
Miranda stood by her car, glaring. Her hair was unkempt, her nursing home uniform wrinkled, like she’d slept days in it.
“Why are you still here?” Her hiss matched her twisted features. “Your grandfather’s dead and buried. Get out.” She waved her hand, shooing her.
Summer took a step back and looked around. The parking lot was empty. Fear clogged the back of her throat, and she gagged. This was so reminiscent of high school days where she’d taken the long way to class to avoid a confrontation, not wanting a repeat of the alley beating.
“She thinks she’s so special, paintings all over the world. Summer this, Summer that. Look what she did. She’s so great,” her whiny voice continued. Miranda didn’t move from her spot by the passenger side of Summer’s car. Yet, her gaze slipped in and out of focus. The rant continued in a high pitched, girly voice.
Summer debated a few seconds about proceeding to her car and decided the safer bet was to return inside the restaurant. She took another step back.
“I belong in this town. Me!” Miranda slapped her chest. “You should go away. You don’t belong here, orphan girl.”
Summer took a sharp breath. She hadn’t been called that since first grade. “Miranda, I think…”
Miranda lifted her finger and shouted, “No, no. You go. You don’t stay.”
Summer turned to flee, but stopped. An EFPD car turned into the lot. Bret pulled to stop between her and Miranda. His window was down.
He looked her over. “You all right? Clem called.”
“I’m fine. Just shaky. She’s…”
“…got problems. I know. Probably off her medication. Go inside for a bit and let me take care of this.” Bret put the car in park and got out of the car.
Miranda screeched, ranting at the police car and Bret.
Summer did as Bret asked and walked to the door, getting out of his way. Not wanting to give Miranda the idea that she’d chased her off, she deliberately slowed her steps. Concern for Bret added to her reluctance.
Clem met her at the door as another police car drove into the lot. He took her coffee out of her hand. “Let me hold that. Poor woman has problems.”
Summer’s eyes strayed to the scene by her car. Bret had succeeded in getting Miranda to quiet, but she still bounced on the pads of her feet and was wringing her hands. Summer couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat. Her heart pounded. She rubbed a hand across her heart, struggling for breath.
Clem l
ed her to a booth near the front window, unaware of her anxiety. “I’ll get you a fresh cup.”
“Fine,” she answered, eyes on Bret through the window. He continued to talk to Miranda. After several long minutes, a woman officer led a slightly more docile woman to the other patrol car and helped her in the backseat.
The two officers conferred. The woman officer left. Summer watched the car disappear. Bret parked his car and walked into the restaurant. He made his way to her table just as Clem put her coffee in front of her.
“What was that all about? Could I get a cup of that, Clem?”
“Sure, Bret. Summer, are you sure you wouldn’t like breakfast?”
Summer took a deep breath and dredged up a smile. “No, nothing really, Clem. I just need some coffee.”
Summer didn’t answer Bret, but instead took a sip of coffee…and another…and another. When he would have talked, she held up a finger. Then she shut her eyes and let the caffeine seep into her system.
“Not the way to start your morning. What did she say?”
A minute passed before she answered him. “No, not a good morning. She was ranting something about me leaving town. I didn’t belong here, and she wanted me to go. Basically kept repeating variations of that, although I got the feeling at some point she ceased talkingto me.”
“You have a history with her?”
She wished for Bret’s calm. She wanted to bounce in her seat, slam her fists on the table, anything to dispel the utter fright that woman put into her. She did none of those things. She found her voice and answered him, keeping an even tone. “Ten- year-old history. For crying out loud, it was junior high and high school.”
“Well, Carmen’s taking her to Doc Garrison. That shouldn’t happen again.”
She didn’t ask what was wrong with Miranda. She didn’t want to know.
Clem returned with coffee for Bret in a to-go cup. “Anything else I can get you two?”
Summer smiled at the older man. “No, thank you, Clem.”
She sipped her coffee in silence while Bret made a few notes in his notebook. “Can we go get my prints over with now?”
“Sure, I’m ready if you are.” He dropped a few bills on the table. “Let’s go.”
Summer followed him to the police station and met Dana Collins in the Dispatch Center. She answered puzzling questions about Jonathan while she waited for Bret to set up. She followed his instructions for her fingerprints and was careful to smile at all the right moments. Inside, she churned so many complex emotions, she couldn’t have picked one to articulate if she tried. Bret kept eyeing her, concerned. She faked equanimity.
Finished finally, she got back in her sedate silver rental car and drove back to her house. She set her purse on the porch and walked to the bench under the cottonwood tree by her grandmother’s garden.
She sank to the seat and kicked off her sandals, dug her toes into the grass and unclenched her teeth.
“I. Hate. This. Place.”
“I hate. This place.”
“I hate this place.”
If she screamed the last, no one heard her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Friday evening arrived. Summer smoothed her denim skirt and fussed with the front of her teal tank. She’d recovered enough from her confrontation with Miranda to be more worried about dinner with all Tom’s family. Her mouth was dry. Her fingers wouldn’t stay still.
Jonathan, as always, was dressed impeccably in beige chinos and a leaf green polo shirt with loafers. His hands lightly palmed the steering wheel as he followed her directions to Olivia’s house. This wasn’t the first time she wished she had his cool, his aplomb.
“Calm down. They don’t know you’re sleeping with him,cher,” Jonathan said, dryly.
“I’m calm,” she lied, fingering her silver jewelry, then tossing her hair back. She shouldn’t have left it down. She’d fidget with it too, now.
To his credit, Jonathan stifled his chuckle. “Right.”
“Seriously, I’m convinced this family has some kind of relationship radar, at least pumpkin magic or something.” She stared at the window.
“Pumpkin magic?” He started laughing and wouldn’t stop. “Cher, you amaze me.”
“Why?” She sat up in her seat, agitated and defensive.
He wiped at a tear at the edge of his eye. “You are a world-known artist. Why are you so nervous?”
“Is an artist all I am, Jonathan?”
He lost the humor immediately, giving the question serious consideration. “What are you talking about? I don’t hang out with people who are so one-dimensional, and frankly, you wouldn’t paint the way you do, if you were.”
“Yet, it’s all I have. All I seem to do.”
“Cher, not to be rude, but you chose that path. It’s where you’re comfortable and for some reason, you won’t get more adventurous. I know. I’ve tried.”
“I don’t want to bungee jump, Jonathan.”
“You should try it at least once. It’s a phenomenal feeling.”
She pointed to the curb. He pulled up and parked in front of the Applegate house. Summer stifled a need to pull down the visor mirror and check her make-up for the twentieth time. “No, thanks. Jumping off a platform to fall two hundred or so feet and hope the rope catches. I don’t think so.”
“Might free you, make you believe that anything is possible.”
She straightened in her seat and glared at him. “I already believe that.”
“Do you now.” Jonathan didn’t let her answer his sarcasm. He opened his door and got out, waving at someone on the sidewalk.
She blew out a breath, straightened her necklace. She swept her hair back. Jonathan’s words had a way of burrowing through her and eating away on her securities, like a worm inside an apple. Dammit. She wasn’t that…boring.
Tom appeared in her side vision and opened her door. “Honey, thinking that hard at this time of day requires a glass of wine.”
The “honey” slid down her senses, causing her stomach to jump, but his deep, quiet voice settled her down. She turned, slipped out of the seat into his arms, and kissed him. “I missed you.”
“Um, I missed you too.” He kissed her lips again and pulled away. Boo and Lindy stood holding Jonathan’s hands, all three smiling likeAristocats. She should have warned Jonathan about Boo and Lindy and their pumpkin magic.
Then again, considering his laughter, maybe not.
Tom laced his fingers through hers and pulled her up the sidewalk. “Everyone’s here, although my folks are…God, I don’t know what. Speaking, but barely.”
“I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”
He stopped at the steps. “Yeah. You can talk to my mother about this art community idea.”
“That’s Jonathan’s department—the business end of it anyway, but we can try.”
She glanced back to find Jonathan engaged in a lively conversation with the two six-year-olds. Apparently, the man could charm a woman, or a girl, at any age, in any place.
The screen door opened, and there was Olivia. The twins shot around her and into the house, leaving Jonathan behind.
“Welcome.” Olivia folded Summer into a tight hug, a gesture that brought tears to her eyes. “I’m so glad you could come again.”
“Thank you, Olivia. I’m delighted to be here.” Summer stepped back, brushing against Tom, who wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Grandma, this is Jonathan Freeman.” Tom’s warm breath shimmered down Summer’s neck, momentarily distracting her.
Jonathan turned on the charm. “Mrs. Applegate, it is a true pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. The move should have been corny, but it showed an old country deference that made Olivia’s eyes light up.
“Make that, Olivia. And it’s a pleasure to meet you also. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Jonathan grinned. “Do tell.”
“Not so easily, young man. We’ll get to that. Please come in. Let’s don’t
stand on the porch. It’s too hot.” Olivia allowed Jonathan to help her into the house. Tom and Summer followed.
The entire family was there minus Rick’s wife, Tara, who’d gone to Dallas. Tom was right. The atmosphere around Bill and Helen was strained. In fact, they were staying on opposites sides of the room from each other. Summer gave Tom a questioning look after greeting Bill again, but Tom shrugged. By the time Jonathan had been introduced to everyone, the meal was ready.
They sat down to a dinner of cold salmon, potato salad, and multiple fresh vegetables—corn on the cob, fresh green beans, and vine-ripened tomatoes. Olivia had added homemade rolls and fresh lemonade. Everyone sat themselves, and Summer ended up across from Helen, with Tom next to her. After several minutes of too bright conversation, Tom nudged her. She swallowed the trepidation and jumped into the fray. This man had helped her grandfather so much. How could she do less for his parents?
Summer sipped her lemonade. “So Helen, tell me about this art community project. Maybe I can help.” A collective tense sigh escaped around the table.
Helen’s shoulders sagged, like air releasing from a balloon. “That’s probably not a good subject for right now.” Her eyes drifted down the table and sought Bill’s. Reading the unhappiness in her expression wasn’t hard.
Jonathan, God bless him, stepped into the breach. “Frankly, I’m fascinated with the idea.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not sure we’re going to have broad enough support to make it happen. I’ve been reminded quite forcefully that this is a farming- ranching community, not some high-brow tourist attraction.” Helen bit her lip, her tone brittle and hurt.
“Mom, that’s not what we meant.” Rick dropped his fork and loosened his tie.
“Maybe this conversation would be better after dinner,” Olivia said, her face crowded with worry.
Usually Summer would have respected her hostess’s words as law. Except Summer flashed to the previous afternoon in Tom’s apartment and inspiration bloomed in living color. “And maybe an art community isn’t what’s needed. Maybe you need something that celebrates more what this community is.”
Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set Page 59
