Sexy. Beautiful. Needy. Oh she could take care of herself. But could she ever accept another’s help? The challenge—letting her know she could count on him to be a friend.
“So hard up for friends you need to latch on to me?” The corner of her lip lifted before she pursed her lips.
He laughed. She baited him. He knew it. She knew he knew it. “Saw right through me. Now put me to work.”
Two hours into unpacking art Gray had no clue how to describe, he came upon a painting that spoke to him. The muted sea-foam green with splashes of gray-blue and vivid blues of every shade from navy to peacock waves, spewing tumultuous foam, and crashing against bad-ass rocks in stark shades of gray and black, looked like the winter coast in this part of the world.
He settled the edge of the painting against his thighs and looked out from behind. “What do you think?”
Her glance drifted to the painting. And damn it all if tears didn’t spring to her eyes. Again.
“What did I say—do?”
“It’s Mindi’s.”
“Oh.” Okay dumbass, you need to say more. But women with tears threw him for a loop. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever seen his mom cry—even when she lost a patient. And he and his brothers hadn’t dared cry.
“She started this gallery to show her work. Few sold. Too heavy and depressing, she said.”
“Are you shitting me? Look at the energy. The passion. This ocean is alive. Leaping off the canvas.”
Her eyes widened. “I always thought so. But Auntie—she wouldn’t hear anything but criticism. If you knew how she grew up—”
His heart took a dive. Had Mindi suffered the same criticisms he had growing up? “Tell me.” He set the painting against the wall and moved closer in the crowded space.
“Not now.” She turned, hauled another box forward, like a barrier to her feelings, and sliced the tape to open the top.
Duly dismissed. She was tight-lipped. He’d concoct some new martini. Get her to talk. Soon. In the meantime… “How much you want for Mindi’s painting?”
“Oh, no. She might not ever know, but she wouldn’t want me to hang this here.”
“For the Starlight. I want to buy it.”
“Why? Where?”
“I need a signature piece of art for the big bare wall across from the piano stage.”
“But your décor is understated austere.”
“Exactly—one painting as vivid as this—the only art work in the entire place. The epitome of austere.”
“The colors are perfect. Fits right in with your ocean and sky theme.”
“See. It works.”
“Yeah, it does. It’s yours.”
“How much?”
“In exchange for your work.”
“No way in hell, Lee. You’re running a business here. You want to honor Mindi, you sell it for what it’s worth.”
“Thousands.” She muttered the words. Then her gaze swung around to meet his. “I didn’t mean—”
“You’re right. I pay what it’s worth.”
“I need to think.”
“Fine. Name your price after you’ve researched.”
“No. I meant think about whether you should pay at all.”
“Not an option. Come on.” He grabbed her hand. Warm. Soft. And yeah, a little gritty from all the dust and grim. “Time for a break. We’re taking this baby across the street and hanging it.”
“Now?”
“You have the tools right there.” He gestured toward the seven-drawer metal tool box. “Grab what we need.”
She dropped his hand. Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, before she blew out a sigh. He chucked his fist under her chin to lift her gaze from the floor to meet his. “It’s a sale. I’m the customer. Do what you always do. This isn’t a damn charity buy, Lee. I want this painting.”
“Okay. Yes. I’m—okay.” She pulled away, turned her back to grab picture hooks, and stuffed them in her pockets.
He steered the painting down the hall. He got it. She needed space. She wasn’t only selling a painting. She was giving up part of her heritage. Mindi wouldn’t be around much longer. If nothing else, this town needed to understand what a talent Mindi had.
Bingo. He placed the painting against the wall in the gallery and stalked back down the hall. “Changed my mind.”
Her head lifted from her task at the tool box. “You know, you’re like a friggin’ ping-pong ball.”
“I have an idea. Brilliant.”
“And modest.”
“Come on.” Again he grabbed her hand, tight so she wouldn’t wiggle away. He strode across the gallery floor with Lee in tow, flipped the sign to closed, and guided her across the street to his place.
“What the hell are you doing? It’s two o’clock.”
One person sat at the bar—the town head librarian having his usual late lunch. Gray saluted a hello in Rob Campion’s direction and pulled Lee toward the big wall. “This is where I think it should go. Between the two wall sconces. Stand there and look over the restaurant.”
“Why?”
“Pretend you’re the painting.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Humor me.”
She plastered her back to the wall and stretched out her arms. Her lips, red and plump, parted, as if she contemplated the wisdom of her next words. “Do I look like a friggin’ painting?”
If they didn’t have an audience between Rob and Belinda, his new daytime bartender, he’d have pressed his body against her and kissed her. Long. Deep. Hard. Instead, to suppress the hard he knew was coming on, he backed up. Framed her between his hands like a photographer. “Babe, with you hanging on the wall, a man would need nothing else.”
Her deep berry lips formed an O before the same color streaked across her cheeks and down her neck to settle in the V neckline of her T-shirt. Oh, yeah. She feels it too.
With a little hip wiggle against the wall, she settled herself. “Why the hell am I plastered against this wall?”
He strode toward the piano. Mostly to settle himself too.
When he turned back, he could see the mad working its way across her features. “We’re wasting time.”
He ignored her hint of a whine. “You’re a painting. What do you see when you look out here.”
“You. A piano.”
He scrubbed his hand over his chin. Shit, he’d forgotten to shave. “Come on.” He couldn’t help the frustrated drawl. “Imagination, Lee. This place is full of people and you are the focus of the room.”
She bit her lip, then went back to posing, painting style. “I never was good at role-playing.”
“Wrong answer.” The lawyer mode in him popped out, like he interrogated a witness. He tempered his voice to benevolent coach. “You’re—the painting is—alive, vibrant, passionate, breathing the beauty of a rough sea. Everyone in this room is in awe of you. Describe what they see.”
Lee leaned back against the wall and let out a huff, resigned to play the game. “People eating your delicious food, most with backs to me. The ones at the tables facing me are—”
“Wait. We push the tables to the edges. People mill around, drinks in their hands. One by one, they turn to stare at you.”
Another wiggle and a sigh. “Their eyes are wide, focused. Some step forward. Others move to the side. All to get a better look or see the painting from a different angle. Because the painting moves with the rush of waves pounding the rocks.”
“Good. Go on.”
“Some scrub a hand through their hair, as if the wind lifts a strand and tickles their face.”
“See what I mean? This painting speaks to people. We hang it now most won’t notice it. So….”
Lee moved away from the wall, her eyes squinted. “You’re scheming. What?”
“Me?” He flashed palms and grinned. “Listen up. This will be great. We’ll have an unveiling. I need to think about this. How can we get people from away to attend?” His hands moved as the idea perco
lated. “Free hors d’oeuvres and wine.” Where the hell had this idea come from? Secure behind the bar, the last thing he wanted was to play host. But this—this was good.
A frown tracked its way across her face. He knew she worked up a protest. Preempt. Give her a damn good reason to accept his plan. “Good for this business. Good for yours.”
Chapter 4
Lauralee caught Gray’s eye. He stood leaning against the door jamb of Mindi’s private room in the Alzheimer’s unit, watching. Mindi, grinning, sat in her wingback chair next to the window.
He cocked a brow toward Lee, as he strode forward and offered his hand. “Mindi, great to see you.” At the blank stare wiping away her grin, he followed up. “Grayson—Gray, from the restaurant across the street.”
Mindi glanced back and forth. Her confusion widened the hole in Lauralee’s heart.
“This your young man, Missy?”
Lauralee glanced at Gray. “Auntie? No.”
Mindi placed the back of her hand, palm rigid, against her opposite cheek as a shield against Gray and leaned toward Lee. “You need to be careful. Don’t want Father to get wind of this. Your young man is a handsome devil, but devil he is.”
Clearly Mindi had forgotten the art of the whisper. Her voice boomed loud enough for Gray to turn a bit red. Blushing? Angry?
“No Auntie, it’s me, Lauralee.” Her aunt’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Missy’s daughter, your niece. Remember, Auntie.” Maybe if she repeated auntie enough, she’d return to the present.
Mindi looked at Gray. “I’m not sure what you’re up to young man, but you treat our Missy like the lady she is—you hear?”
“Yes ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of treating her any other way.”
Mindi rolled her eyes. “Not what I heard.” Her mumble mimicked the whisper—loud and clear. “You need to stay away—down at the caretakers cottage where you belong with the others. Not mingle with the summer folk.”
“Auntie.” Lee knew her aunt was speaking prejudices she’d learned in childhood. Mindi was town folk now. Had been for a long time. “This is Gray Mann.”
“I remember—Parkers Point. The parties. Remember Missy? The party PattiSue’s parents threw for their friends, before you…you know. We snuck out after dark and walked the path to the cottage. The caretaker went to town.” Mindi glared at Gray. “The place swarmed with town kids.” Mindi shivered. “The three of us—our summer rebellion, to mix in with the townies. PattiSue and I—we had no clue you and Tommy…” Mindi shuddered. “Oh, Missy, Father will be so angry.”
Lauralee glanced at Gray before kneeling beside the chair. “Auntie, why will Father be angry?”
“If he finds out you and Tommy… He must never know. Break up with him. He’s no good for you.” Mindi gripped the skirt of her dress, twisting material in both hands, as if wringing out laundry. Agitated, her voice raised to a pitch. “What if you’re—you get—”
“What? Tell me.”
“Pregnant.” Again the stage whisper. The word seemed to bounce around the room like a deep cave echo.
Her heart took a dive. Auntie spoke of Lauralee’s father, she was sure of it. She now had a name. Tom. Tommy. Thomas. It should be easy to find out who the caretaker was back then. Find a last name. Track down his kid. Was he the Tommy she searched for or did he have a friend named Tom? Thirty years. Would there still be a lead to follow?
Lauralee reached for both of Mindi’s twisting hands to cradle them in her own. Finally they relaxed enough for Lauralee to separate them from the grip she had on her dress. She pulled Auntie in for a hug. “Come back to me. Please Auntie, come back to me.”
Mindi pulled back, a relaxed look on her face, and stroked Lauralee’s cheek. “I’m so glad you came home to help me, dear. I’ll be ready to go back to the gallery soon.” She looked at Gray. “How’s business?”
“Not bad for slow time of year.” He didn’t miss a beat. “Fall tourists are beginning to roll in.”
“Good—you send them on over to Ocean’s End.”
“I always do.”
Her auntie grinned. Lauralee stood and pulled over the straight-back to sit. “Auntie, when you going to tell me who my father is? You know. Please. I need to understand.”
Mindi’s eyes widened, as she scanned the room, obviously disoriented. Her lips drew a straight line across her face. “I tried to warn you Missy.” As if a faucet turned on, tears spilled down her cheeks. “Now, you’re gone.”
The warm pressure of Gray’s hand on Lauralee’s shoulder funneled comfort straight to her heart. She looked up. “I lost her. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“It wasn’t you. Nature of the disease.” Gray stepped back. “I’ll get you both some tea.” His footsteps faded toward the nurse’s station.
Another half-hour passed as they calmed Mindi, talked about happy memories of summers in Serenity Harbor with her sister. All the while, Lauralee’s stomach remained twisted in a knot. Auntie held the secrets to her whole being—who her father was, what happened to her mama, why her grandfather had given her away. The past had shaped her miserable life, until Auntie came looking for her.
* * *
Gray lugged broken-down empty boxes to the recycling bin behind the gallery. “Now what?”
“You go home.”
He stopped in the midst of dusting off his hands and threw her his signature bedazzling smile he only pulled out on special occasions. “Not yet.”
Lee threw him a look—you’re irritating me, pushing my buttons on purpose.
Damn straight. Only way he could get her to show any emotion. She’d shut down after their visit to the Alzheimer’s unit.
“You’re upset about Mindi. Want to talk?”
“I’m fine. I knew what to expect. Still…it’s hard not to hope.”
“Maybe if you talk to town folks. Many have lived here all their lives.”
She nodded, then turned back toward the security and warmth of the building. Dismissed.
If he hadn’t become friends with Mindi when he moved to town, he’d know nothing about Lee. Instead he knew bits and pieces—not enough to weave together the whole story. But Lee wasn’t talking. He didn’t blame her. He holed up his past inside him, as she did. He hiked into the store room, slamming the door behind him, then past her down the hall to the gallery. “You wanted to reorganize.”
Her footsteps pounded behind him. “Not your fight. I can handle this.”
“Fight? This is how you see organizing the gallery to show off merchandise?”
Lee glanced at her sneakers—today, purple high tops with orange polka dots. The hint of rebellion to Lee’s uncharacteristic normal outfit of jeans and long-sleeved, lavender T. She glanced toward the ocean. He followed her gaze to the ferry churning lazily into port. The wind kicked up frothy waves to dot the seascape, as the ominous gray sky darkened to the northwest.
“Storm coming in.”
“Good day for cleaning. Now about that fight….”
“Drop it.”
“Lee, come on. Can’t tell your friends, who can you tell?”
This time she glared.
“You don’t trust me. Says something about this friend thing I thought we had going.”
“No. It’s not that—it’s personal.”
“Let me help.”
Lee sucked in a deep breath. “You can’t.”
“Yeah I can.”
“With bills? Sure.” When he cocked his head, she added. “I may lose Auntie’s legacy.”
“Mindi must have savings.”
She shook her head. “Gone to supplement her insurance. I’m out of ideas on how to build this business. Almost out of savings.” The last whispered words sent his heart plummeting.
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand, lifted her chin to look into eyes clouded with her bleak outlook on her future. “Gonna’ be all right. Break time.” When she started to pull away, he added, “Okay?”
They strode next door to Brewsters.
Caffeine. Sugar. Pumpkin spice lattes topped with mounds of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Gray’s remedy in time of crisis. Or martini’s. Except alcohol could lead to quivering lips and shimmering eyes, maybe full-blown tears. Nope. Don’t go there.
Grasping her warm hand he pulled open the door. The scent of brewing coffee enveloped them.
She tugged against his grip. So much for trying to ditch his white-knight persona. He intended to stay in rescue mode. Over coffee, they’d puzzle out financial solutions without making her feel like this was one more pity party.
It wasn’t. Hell, when he’d moved to this small town, he’d learned the world wasn’t filled with rotten people, but decent folks who wanted to help. Friends he could trust. He planned to show her the beauty of living in Serenity Harbor.
Chapter 5
“This room is stuffed.” Gray perused the storage space above the gallery.
Lee, hands on hips, glared. She’d scowled a lot since he’d arrived unannounced. He grinned.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“The grinning. I told you not to help. I told you I could do this myself.”
She still thought he wanted to rescue her. He helped because he couldn’t help himself. He liked her company. Yeah, if he were honest, he’d admit he wanted something all right. Lee. To get to know her better. And maybe he could build her trust. “I’m here for selfish reasons.”
“Uh-huh. I bet.”
“Luke says I’m putting on too much weight, lollygagging around the bar. Figured I’d work off the huge breakfast he made this morning.”
“He came over and made you breakfast?” She lowered her chin and looked down her nose, as if asking for an explanation over a pair of glasses.
“He lives at my place. It’s big enough.” He shrugged. “He’s been looking for a place—but permanent rentals are hard to come by.” He yanked a box forward, and ripped the top open. “What the hell is all this stuff?”
Lee peered over his shoulder, as he pointed to a china doll lying in a wooden cradle, before lifting out a teddy bear. “This Mindi’s stuff?”
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