by Lyz Kelley
When he saw her shaking with sobs, he opened his arms, and she walked into his embrace. “I’m glad you accepted my offer. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“I’m s-scared,” she sobbed. “I got into a big f-fight with Drew and Sketch a few days ago. They both said I need to make a decision. They’re planning to talk to you about it Monday.”
Larson had already made his decision. Jacob stared back down the long, empty hall, wishing for a miracle, wishing the exit door would re-open, but Larson was gone.
Larson and Etch weren’t the only ones who were scared.
He’d seen the way Rachelle took off out of the conference room, and he didn’t blame her. He could only imagine her hurt and anger.
How could he explain?
He had promised to protect her, and now this.
“Come on.” He gently guided Etch through the doorway. “Let’s go find Ben and get you packed. You’re not alone, Etch. We’re your family. We’ll be here for you. You should feel good about taking the first step. It won’t be easy.”
“One day at a time, right?”
“One day at a time.” Jacob spotted Ben and gave him an I-need-help look. Both Ross and Ben headed his way.
Ben studied Etch then him. “What’s up?”
“You know those places we checked out in Arizona?”
“You mean the one in the desert?” His voice went flat.
“Etch says she needs a break. Can you ask Courtney to get her space in one of the facilities and make travel arrangements to get her there? Drew and Sketch might want to help Etch pack. It seems I need to do some explaining to a beautiful blonde.”
“Then you better plan packing yourself,” Ross added. “She took a taxi to the airport.”
Jacob dropped his head, a roiling, nauseating mess of emotions drowning him.
Guilt. Hurt. Anger. Understanding.
“Okay. Let’s get Etch settled first, and then I’ll book a flight to Denver.”
Ross put his arm around Etch and gave her a kiss on the head. “We’ve got this, kiddo. You’ll be fine.”
“What about Larson?” Ben asked.
A wave of misgivings swamped Jacob, but the feeling only meant he’d made the right decision. “Larson’s decided not to join us. He’s on his own now.”
Guilt and grief tightened his chest, but he took a deep swallow to shake off the knee-jerk urge to blame himself. He didn’t force Larson to take drugs. The only thing he’d been guilty of was covering for his buddy. Well, he wasn’t covering for him anymore. If Larson wanted help, he knew where to find it.
He had a new company to build, employees to take care of, and a new designer to find. Although he had a good idea where he could find one.
The only problem was convincing her he wasn’t the one who had just lopped off her head.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rachelle tied Dempsey’s leash to the dog hitch outside of the Dreamy Delight bakery and scooted the provided water bowl a bit closer.
She clutched her portfolio bag under her arm as she opened the door and tossed a smile onto her face, even though she felt like someone had dragged her down the alley and kicked her until she was nearly unconscious.
She ached all over from the virus the lady next to her on the plane so kindly shared.
“Hey, Rachelle! What’s up?” Jenna wiped her hands on her apron, then rushed around the counter to help Rachelle set the black leather bags she’d brought with her on a table.
Rachelle dropped her purse on the closest chair. “Don’t get too close, you don’t want my cold.”
Jenna pointed over her shoulder. “Let me make you some of my defense tea. It’s great for boosting your immune system.”
“I’m good. I just stopped by to ask a favor. I have some artwork I was hoping you might display for sale. I know it’s a big request, but...”
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jenna reached for her arm.
What isn’t wrong? Rachelle pulled a tissue from her purse to wipe her nose and disguise her welling tears. She took a moment to stuff the tissue in a plastic bag and gather some courage. “My design job fell through, and I’m looking at other options.” She placed a hand on the leather portfolio bag. “I have all this artwork I want to sell. The art gallery canceled my contract when my family name was the news headline for weeks.”
“Art gallery. What art gallery?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m sorry. Your dad certainly made a mess of things. You know what your dad did has nothing to do with you. Right?”
“I wish other people felt the same way.”
Jenna studied the oversized black case. “So what is all this? I didn’t know you painted.”
“I worked hard to keep my artwork a secret. If my dad ever found out, he would have forbidden me to paint again.” Rachelle fiddled with a curly strand which had fallen over her shoulder. “I met a wonderful art instructor when I took an online class, and when she found out I lived nearby, she took me under her wing and let me rent the back room in her studio. The setup worked nicely. I could paint and store my stuff, and no one knew I was showing my work in her gallery. But I had to clear everything out at the end of last quarter.”
“I see.” Jenna’s comment conveyed an understanding Rachelle appreciated more each day.
She pulled out the first 16 x 20 framed canvas and turned the piece over for Jenna to see. The baker gasped and clutched Rachelle’s forearm.
“You did this?”
Rachelle studied the multimedia painting, which included fabric and other junk she’d found lying around the house. The strips of cloth gave the mountains their texture. Lace and small pebbles the riverbed. “Yes. It’s one of my favorites. That’s why I showed it to you first.”
She reached to retrieve another large painting, a couple of mediums, and a few smaller pieces.
“Grant?” Jenna called. “Come look at what Rachelle brought in.”
Grant appeared from the back of the store, rolling down his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. “Hey, Rachelle.”
Jenna took the canvas from Rachelle and held it up. “Look at this. Isn’t it amazing? Rachelle wants to display her work for sale here. What do you think? My vote’s yes.”
Grant peered over his wife’s shoulder. “How much do you want for a piece like this?”
Rachelle studied the lot. “How about three hundred for the bigger pieces, one fifty for the medium, and eighty-five for the small ones?”
Her gut clenched when Grant started shaking his head. Please don’t say no. Please. I need rent money, especially after paying cash for a plane ticket.
He pointed at the large piece. “I’m thinking eight hundred for the large, three for the mediums. Hmmm. I’m not sure about the small, but I don’t think you should undersell your work, Rachelle, because it’s gallery quality. Once it gets out there, these pieces could fetch thousands. I’m not convinced eight hundred is a fair price, but Jenna and I have been looking for some artwork. What do you think? Will you accept eight?”
Ohhh. He loves my work.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Jenna bounced up and kissed Grant’s cheek. “I knew you would love this one.”
Rachelle choked down relief, yet loneliness crept in.
A sting of tears threatened again, and she quickly imagined what her father would say about her selling her art. Anger cleared away the frail emotions in an instant. “I’d be thrilled to take whatever you want to offer.”
“Done,” Grant said.
“The name of each piece is on the back, along with a description.”
“Perfect, I’ll get the rest of these up on the wall this week.” Grant lifted the stacked canvas, then nudged Jenna’s shoulder. “What about Kyle?”
“What about Ky…ohhhh,” Jenna turned toward Rachelle.
“Is your son okay? He’s such a sweet little boy, and he’s been through a lot.”
Jenna waved away her concern. “He’s fine. Loves school. And he’s growing like a we
ed. I think he has a crush on Brianne, Mara’s little girl.”
“Isn’t she a lot older than Kyle?”
“Yes, but I think he has a crush on anyone with blond hair. Caitlyn, my sister and Kyle’s mom, had beautiful blond hair. I was always jealous, because I was stuck with this mousy brown.” Jenna giggled when she looked at Rachelle. “Kyle calls you the pretty bag lady. I was worried at first, but then he told me he thinks you’re pretty and you have pretty purses. The red and black are his favorites.”
“He has good taste. They’re both Prada.” And if I get desperate enough I’ll sell it to you.
“He has an eye for art and style,” Grant nodded. “We’ve been looking for a place to take him for art lessons.”
Rachelle reached in her bag and grabbed her lipstick, which doubled as her adult pacifier. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to develop a suitable curriculum for kids.” Or anyone for that matter.
“Who else in this town knows how to create something like this?” Jenna paused two seconds. “No one. All the other artists hanging on these walls live miles away. You’d be perfect. Just let us know how much you would charge for the lessons. We had already discussed asking if you might consider private lessons.”
“Oh, no.” She applied another layer of lipstick to cover her fragile yearning for a child. “I can’t charge you. You were the only ones who supported me after…you know.”
“That’s not true, but you should think about it. Kyle loves crafts and drawing, and there’s no one in town who can show him art is more than crayons and paper.”
“Okay. Stop. We’ll start slow, and if he’s still interested in formal lessons, then I’ll teach him about light and color pigments.”
When Jenna reached for her, Rachelle stiffened against the genuine, human hug, then tentatively touched Jenna’s sides. “Silly woman. When you get my cold, don’t blame me.”
“It will be worth it.”
“I hope you still feel that way when your nose is red and runny and you’ve gone through a whole box of tissues.”
Grant lifted her pictures higher in his arms, the approval on his face tall and wide. No way could she doubt how he felt. He turned and headed for the back, then shouted back toward his wife. “Did you show Rachelle what you’ve been working on, Jenna?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jenna rushed to the counter, picked up a tray of chocolate treats, and held them out. “Actually, you arrived at the perfect moment. I just created Rachelle’s Indulgence, but I want to make sure you approve. I want you to have a cookie named after you.”
Jenna held out the plate, beaming.
The old Rachelle would have dismissed having a cookie named after her as trivial. But the honor wasn’t trivial. Not in Elkridge. The people Jenna considered worthy had bakery treats named after them. There were Ashley’s Luscious Lemon Drops and Maggie’s Marvelous Muffins, so why not Rachelle’s Indulgences?
“There’s only one problem,” she clamped her teeth together, not wanting to hurt Jenna’s feelings.
But didn’t she promise to be honest with people? Then again, maybe she should just accept the honor and not say anything.
Jenna looked at the tray of exquisitely baked items in little paper trays. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing is wrong. Everyone loves your treats. Forget I said anything.”
She picked up a bite and shoved the round bit into her mouth, trying and failing to force the cluster of chocolate down. She wanted to gag, but smiled instead.
Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “Look at you, you can’t even swallow it, can you?”
“It’s yummy,” she lied her butt off and faked a swallow. “All gone.”
“Open your mouth, then.”
Rachelle shook her head.
A grin spread like hot oil in a pan across Jenna’s face, and her giggles popped and bubbled to the point she had to set the tray on the table. “Would you like a glass of water?”
“Yes, please,” Rachelle mumbled around the wad of sugar and flour.
Jenna giggled all the way through the kitchen and back again. “Here. Drink this. I put some fresh lemon in there to take away the taste.” Jenna put her hands on her hips. “Now out with it. What don’t you like about the cookie?”
Rachelle brushed her hair off her shoulder. “They are good, it’s just…I don’t like chocolate.”
“What?” Jenna's eyes popped open with surprise. “When you had your real estate business, you ordered brownies and chocolate cookies every week.”
“Everyone likes chocolate,” especially my father, “and I ordered what they liked.”
“I’ve never been able to figure you out.”
That’s because I’ve never been allowed to be myself. “One of our housekeepers used to sneak me potato chip cookies for my birthday. They were sweet and salty, and I loved them. I tried to make them one day, but they didn’t turn out very well. Do you think you could find a recipe?”
“Sure. But you’ll have to be the taste tester.”
Twist my arm. “I keep forgetting you have diabetes. It must be tough being around temping treats every day.”
“Not at all. Just like you, I love making people happy. You offer people chocolate. I make samples. It seems to me we’re not too different.”
The loneliness plaguing her for the past several days began to slip away.
She had refused to return Jacob’s texts and calls, making her feel even more alone. Jacob wasn’t so different, either.
But, he had things to figure out and take care of—Larson being one of them.
She needed a clear mind and conscience to pinpoint next steps. Having a sexy geek with the overprotective gene around didn’t help.
She loved him. Her mind and heart agreed about that, at least. However that was about the end of the collaboration.
She was determined to figure out how to be whole again, because if she couldn’t, she wouldn’t have any future with Jacob.
He deserved to have a full-fledged partner. Someone he could count on.
And she wanted him to be able to count on her.
However, her heart longed to feel his body pressed against hers. In the early morning hours she fretted about whether or not to send him a message and ask him for some time.
To wait for her to find her way.
But, she concluded, if he decided to move on with his life, then maybe their relationship wasn’t meant to be.
At least that’s what her mind kept trying to convince her heart.
“Thank you for being such a great friend, especially when I’ve given you no reason to trust me.”
“You’ve given me plenty of reasons. Besides, I know what it’s like to have nothing. But the best thing about nothing is you get to build your very own, personal something—and from this moment forward, your life will be yours.”
“True.” A peaceful calm settled over Rachelle’s heart until a voice she never wanted to hear again, said, “Good afternoon, Ladies.”
Rachelle slowly turned with her shield of indifference firmly in place. “Special Agent Bantner. What brings the FBI back to Elkridge?” Her nerves and the chocolate in her stomach lurched.
“Miss Clairemont, may I speak to you outside?” Bantner made a gesture toward the door.
Rachelle reached for her purse.
Jenna stepped in front of her. “Michael Bantner. I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again. I don’t mean to be rude, but when sex trafficking and drugs are your thing, it makes one nervous.”
“Only sex trafficking.” The man who had a personality taller than his size stood his ground, unfazed by her statement. “The DEA handles the drugs.”
“Still,” Jenna crossed her arms, creating a formidable barrier, but Rachelle didn’t want Jenna, Grant, or anyone else to get involved.
“I’m ready.” Rachelle scooted around Jenna and walked to the door, but Agent Bantner stood calmly, a mighty, rugged force in the fight against crime.
“No need to worry, Mrs. Grade
n. I just need a minute of Miss Clairemont’s time, then I’ll be on my way.”
At the door, Rachelle turned with her pleasant façade firmly in place. “I’ll be by in a few days to collect the art you don’t think works in the shop. Thank you so much, Jenna. And Grant, too. I truly appreciate your help.”
Jenna’s eyes switched from defensive to serious. “If you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find us.”
Rachelle nodded and hiked her purse higher on her shoulder. She retrieved Dempsey, took a deep breath, and made her way to the curb, tucking the dog in closer, needing the extra shot of comfort. “What can I do for you, Agent?”
He glanced right and left, making sure their conversation would be private. “Your father seems to think you can corroborate his latest story.”
Her spine stiffened. “About?”
“About not having any involvement in tainting the heroin which caused nine deaths in Ohio. He said you have evidence of his innocence.”
“Me?” Shock blasted adrenaline through her system.
Did he know about the log she’d kept?
Why did he involve her?
Then it hit her.
“I see.” She reached into her purse for a pair of dark sunglass to hide behind.
Her father still believed he had control. Just like he always had control. “I believe I have what you need, but you’ll need to give me a few days.”
Bantner leaned closer. “You have until tomorrow.” His spicy aftershave did nothing to calm her queasy stomach. “Don’t try anything silly, Ms. Clairemont. We are watching.”
“I’d expect nothing less from the FBI. You’ve never stopped watching, have you?” She let her blissfully happy smile slip into place, and she tossed her hair back like nothing in the world could be wrong with her “perfect,” total shambles of a life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Guilt scraped across Rachelle’s conscience while she entered Jacob’s home with the key he’d entrusted to her.
He wasn’t home, thankfully.
She didn’t want to be there any longer than necessary, and concentrated on getting in and out without him ever knowing.
