by Lynn Cahoon
Taylor pulled out her BlackBerry and thumbed through her e-mails. When she found one from Brit, she opened and read the short message.
Reading the words aloud, she frowned as the implication sunk in. “Found the contract on your desk. Dropped it off at Mike’s, so one less thing for you to hurry back to finish. Have fun!”
Jesse’s contract had been filed as her own. She hoped Mike wasn’t in the office on Friday. She dialed his work number, but of course he wasn’t in at—she glanced at her watch—5:00 A.M. on a Saturday. The beep sounded and she left the lawyer a message. “Hey, don’t file that last artist agreement. We need to make some changes.”
Then she called Mike’s cell and left the same message. She had hoped he would answer, but maybe he slept more than she did.
She might be able to explain slipping away from Jesse without saying goodbye. It would be harder to explain stealing his first artist contract. Taylor watched as the road turned from city to desert as they headed through the outskirts of town toward the airport. She should turn around. Grab some coffee and donuts and pretend like she was just going for breakfast.
With your suitcase in tow? How would you explain that? You were afraid he’d try on your clothes? She stared at her reflection in the window. No, she’d already gone too far to go back. Even if she regretted the impulse to run. Now, later, and probably forever. The cab slowed next to the curb, and she gave the driver a twenty. Waving off her change, Taylor opened the taxi door and strode to the ticket counter, hoping for an easy transfer to an earlier flight.
Three hours later she was home in Boise. Taylor dropped her suitcase into her trunk, turned the car left instead of right toward home, and drove to Eagle, where her favorite hot springs spa was located. She knew the owner and hoped there was at least one room available. She wanted to hide. Hide and enjoy the services of Sally’s best masseuse. She tossed her phone into the passenger seat. She’d turned off the cell as soon as she’d climbed on the plane. She couldn’t talk to anyone until she got her head straight. She’d turn it back on Monday. If she decided to go in to work. The gallery was dark on Mondays, so technically she wouldn’t be missed unless she didn’t show on Tuesday.
But Brit would know. Taylor usually did payroll and the majority of paperwork on Mondays. So most of the time, Brit came in to help, or gossip. Mostly to gossip.
Taylor couldn’t worry about that now. All she needed to do was get Jesse Sullivan out of her brain long enough to make some intelligent decisions. Decisions that weren’t based on how amazing he’d made her feel last night, or how soft his caress had been. She’d had lovers in the past, she wasn’t a saint. But she had never made love before. The experience with the other men had been sex. Fun, mind-blowing sex.
Last night with Jesse, she’d felt a connection. More than just their bodies joining.
Being with Jesse had overwhelmed her senses. She felt like their limbs had melted into each other, becoming one. She pulled her suitcase out of the trunk and stared at the cottage-style building situated close to the Boise River. Now she definitely knew that she needed some perspective. She was talking gibberish, like she was feeling a strong emotion. Like she was feeling love. For Jesse. She’d met the guy less than a month ago, so at the most, she was in lust. Not love. She decided her first stop would be the spinning room. She’d work this feeling out on a bike. And if that didn’t work, she’d run.
She didn’t want to think about what she’d have to do after running if Jesse Sullivan stayed in her head.
• • •
Two days later, Taylor snuck into the gallery, well rested with her head on straight. She felt ready to deal with all the bullcrap. As soon as Taylor walked in, Brit crossed the lobby to greet her. She took her arm and whispered, “Where have you been?” When Taylor hesitated, Brit took Taylor’s purse and straightened Taylor’s suit jacket. “Never mind. You can tell me later. You have a visitor in your office. I offered him coffee, but he declined.”
Steeling herself, Taylor thought about the decision she’d made during her mud bath at the spa. No Jesse, no sex, nothing but business. She straightened her shoulders and opened the door to her office, her lie to Jesse already formulated in her mind. “Sorry about disappearing this weekend, I had gallery business.”
“You disappointed me, Taylor. I thought maybe we’d catch a performance of the traveling ballet troupe in town.” Mike sat in her chair, waving her into her own office. He held a hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “I’m on a call with some people who are very interested in investing in a gallery. One more substantial investment and I’ve solved your problem. You’ll own your own business.”
Not Jesse. Taylor set her planner on the desk and exhaled. She waved Mike out of her chair. “I won’t be the owner. I’ll just have more people telling me what I need to do.”
He shook his head. “Everyone has a boss, Taylor.” He focused on the call as he walked away, allowing her to slip into the chair he’d just vacated. He left the room, and Brit strolled in.
“So our new employee stood me up this weekend.” Brit sat on the chair in front of Taylor’s desk. She peeled a banana. “I hate to hit you with this first thing, but I thought you should know.”
“Angie? She didn’t show up for her shift? Did she at least call?” Taylor booted up her computer. She didn’t need this, not today. Jesse would be sauntering in that door at any moment wanting to know why she had disappeared. Despite two days of contemplation at the spa, she hadn’t come up with what she wanted to say. A good excuse for her behavior.
“She called, said she wasn’t feeling well, and that she’d be in on Tuesday.” Brit shook her head. “I hope she won’t flake out—I kind of like having her around. It gives me more time to work on the upcoming exhibits without having to stay late every night.”
Mike came back into the office and slid his phone into his pocket. “What’s going on?”
Taylor clicked open her e-mail program and saw an e-mail from Jesse. She clicked the program shut. She’d deal with it once her office wasn’t the gathering spot. “Nothing’s going on, Mike. Angie just called in sick, that’s all. People get sick.”
Mike put his hand on the chair where Brit sat. “You know, there’s no protection for employees under federal law until they’ve been on the payroll for a year. Maybe firing her now would make Jesse reconsider buying the gallery? They seem to be a pretty tight family.”
Taylor’s stomach soured at the thought. Just how low would she have to stoop to save the gallery? She shook her head. “We’re not playing dirty. Just see if you can find investors. If we don’t put together a package by the end of the week, I’ll resign myself to the sale.”
“But Taylor, I think there’s an opportunity here.” Mike stepped closer to the desk. “Your folks will come around. I know they really don’t want to sell. You know your mom can be a bit of a wild card.”
She looked at the glee in Mike’s eyes. Had he always been this determined? Would he do anything, or hurt anyone to win? She leaned back in her chair. “Mike, just leave. I’m not playing your game.”
Brit must have seen the pain in Taylor’s eyes, because she stood and took Mike’s arm. “Taylor needs some time alone.” Mike didn’t fight; he let Brit walk him to the door. When she returned to the office, she didn’t come in, opting instead to lean against the doorframe.
“What?” Taylor pulled the pile of mail closer and started ripping open envelopes.
Brit didn’t answer. Finally Taylor looked up at her friend and sighed.
“What have I started?” She set the torn envelope down on her desk.
This time, Brit answered her. “I don’t know. Mike seems like he’s more invested in saving the gallery than you are. I haven’t seen him act like that since you dumped him freshman year.”
Taylor cocked her head and stared at Brit. “I don’t remember dating Mike.”
Brit smiled sadly. “You thought you were just going to the game with a group of friends. However, Mike
never got over it. When he got up the courage to ask you out again, you were already dating Ken.”
“You can’t be serious. That was years ago. There’s no way Mike is interested in me. The business, yes. He’s worked at the firm that handles the gallery and our family business since he left law school.” Taylor thought about Mike’s comment about the ballet. Sure, they’d gone places together, but she didn’t consider that dating. The question was, did he? “I’ve never seen him that way. He’s always just been Mike. A friend.”
“History always comes back to bite us,” Brit said. “Do you want some coffee? Some girl talk?”
“Coffee yes, talk no.” Taylor glanced at her computer screen. She needed to find out what Jesse had written. Then she needed to talk to Angie and see if she was okay.
She waited for Brit to return with the cup and a filled carafe. “Close the door, please.”
Brit started to say something, nodded instead, and clicked the door shut behind her.
Taylor stared at the door for a few seconds before returning to her laptop and opening Jesse’s e-mail. She quickly read through the three lines. Short, to the point, and, surprisingly forgiving. Sorry you couldn’t stay. Hope everything is all right. Jesse. It was like he’d read her fear the way he read the bulls he rode. Twisting left to keep her from bucking him off, he backed away. There was an implication—no, a promise—that he would call. When had she turned into a scared deer, needing to be herded toward the safety of the forest?
She sat at her desk for an hour, thinking about her next steps. She didn’t want anyone leading her one way or the other. She could call her folks, but they were definitely in Camp Jesse. Mike, well, he wasn’t the best person to bounce ideas off. And Brit, she was too close to the gallery to give her unbiased opinion. When had her life become all about the gallery? All about work?
A soft knock on the door broke Taylor out of her musing. Angie stood in the doorway, dressed in what must be a conservative outfit for her. She had on a bright purple suit. Under the suit, a creamy-white silk tank peeked out from behind a pile of gold jewelry. Even with Angie’s caking layers of makeup, her skin looked pale and the woman seemed tired.
“Hey, come on in. Brit told me you were sick this weekend. Maybe you should have stayed home another day?” Taylor stood as Angie stomped in on platform leopard heels. Angie sunk into one of the chairs and leaned forward.
“I needed to come in. I can’t just stay at home; I’ll make myself crazy.” Angie studied Taylor’s face. “How was Wyoming?”
“Did you hear from Barb or Jesse?” Taylor waited for Angie’s reaction.
Her eyebrows rose. “Both. Does that surprise you? We’re kind of a close-knit bunch.”
Taylor pulled out a bag of salt and vinegar chips she’d stashed in her desk drawer and tore it open. After pulling a handful out and setting them on a napkin, she offered the bag to Angie. When the woman grimaced and shook her head, Taylor frowned. “Seriously, maybe you should have stayed home another day. There’s a flu bug going around.”
Angie sighed and leaned back into the chair. “Give an old woman a break. I’m not stupid enough to come in if I were contagious or vomiting all over everything. I’m just dealing with some bad news. I’ll be better tomorrow.”
Taylor folded down the seal on the chip bag and put it away in the drawer. She wasn’t fooling herself. The way she felt, the bag would be gone by closing. At least, if it was out of sight, she’d have to burn the few calories it took to drag it out of the drawer each time she got the craving. “I didn’t say you were going to infect everyone.”
“It was in your tone. Believe me, what I have isn’t catching.” Angie glanced around the office. “You don’t believe in decorating much, do you?”
Taylor pressed her lips together and ate another chip before she answered. “I believe it’s called minimalism.”
“I think it’s because you can’t make up your mind. Have you ever claimed a spot as your own? This feels more like a man’s office.”
Taylor glanced around the office she’d inherited from her grandfather. Leather chairs, a large wooden desk, bookshelves filled with art books, and a worn, but usable, leather couch. “My grandfather must have decorated the room.” She paused, seeing the furniture through new eyes. “I never even considered changing it.”
“A woman steeped in tradition. No wonder Jesse’s fallen for you. That boy always did want the Norman Rockwell kind of life.”
“Jesse hasn’t fallen for me,” Taylor protested, but even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew they weren’t true. It was too much. His love, his expectations. Even his trust in her, when all she was trying to do was keep him from buying the gallery.
“A mother knows.” Angie tapped her blue-rimmed nails on the seat of the chair.
“Look, I’m not comfortable talking about my relationship, or my non-relationship, with your son. Did you want something?” Taylor opened the drawer and dumped out another handful of chips. Stress-eat much?
Angie seemed to squirm in her chair. “Actually, I need to tell you something. But you can’t tell anyone. As my employer, I can hold you to that promise. No Barb. No Jesse. No one outside this office.”
“I thought you were a close-knit bunch?” Taylor asked. She felt bad when her words reflected on Angie’s face like the outline of a handprint after a hard slap. “Sorry, I’m being a bitch. Of course, you can tell me anything. And as long as it’s not illegal, I promise, I won’t tell anyone else.”
Angie looked around the room again. “I would have liked your grandfather. I decorated my first house with the boys’ dad a lot like this. Lots of wood and leather. Very masculine and country.”
Taylor smiled as she followed Angie’s gaze around the room. “He was an awesome man. Generous, giving, and he had the best laugh. I loved spending time here at the gallery with him when I was a little girl. He explained the pictures to me, then, after a while, he had me explain the pictures to him.” Taylor laughed. “He was probably training me how to understand art, even as a child. Nevertheless, he said the gallery knew when someone loved it.”
Angie nodded, the look in her eyes distant. “My grandfather worked on a farm in South Dakota. Dry farming. Praying for just the right amount of rain each year. Gone from sunup to sundown, only coming in to eat dinner at noon, then back out to the fields.” Angie smiled at the memory. “He loved us grandkids. When we stayed with him in the summer, he would take my brother and me swimming on Saturdays down in the creek, where the water pooled under a big oak.”
A small beep came through the laptop speakers announcing a new e-mail.
“Do you need to get that?” Angie sat forward in her chair. She looked like a rabbit poised to flee at any frightening movement.
“It can wait.” Taylor threw away the oil spotted napkin and focused on Angie. “I know you didn’t come in to tell me I needed to redecorate. What’s going on?”
Angie studied her, and for a minute, Taylor thought she might just bolt. Please, don’t let this be about Jesse, she prayed silently. She wasn’t sure she could be strong enough to hold her feelings back right now. Mike had the financing in place, and she’d be at least a partial owner of Main Street Gallery in a few weeks. All she had to do was keep Jesse from finding out. She owed it to her grandfather to keep the gallery in the family. He’d always called it the family legacy. If her parents weren’t going to honor the man, she would.
Taylor watched as Angie pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. The minutes stretched as the silence grew. Finally, Angie pulled her shoulders straight, sat up, and looked directly at Taylor.
When she spoke, the words stunned Taylor. “I have breast cancer.”
Chapter 12
Angie sat in the leather chair not looking at Taylor. “You can’t tell the boys. I’m fine. Just a few procedures, tests, then I’ll be back to normal.”
Taylor felt like she’d been punched in the gut. “Angie, it’s not like you need a denta
l cleaning. Cancer is serious. Jesse needs to know—family can help.”
“You don’t understand. I wasn’t there for them when they were growing up. Not when James broke his arm or when Jesse got measles. Why should I ask them to sit with me?” Angie twirled her hair in her fingers. “I hope I don’t lose my hair. I’ve heard that some people don’t.”
“They make great wigs now.” Taylor reached for something positive to say.
Angie smiled. “I’ve always wanted to be a redhead. Maybe I’ll try it out for a while.” She stared out the window for a long time. “I’ll need a few weeks after my surgery, then chemo days off. Other than that, I can work around the appointments. Sometimes, I might have to switch up my hours. Can you work around that?”
“Of course we can. But do you think you want to work?” Taylor thought about the next few weeks. “We typically close for a couple weeks in July to reset for the year. We could move that up to match your surgery schedule. That way you won’t miss too much time.”
Angie smiled. “Whatever you want. I’ll have a date soon. I’m serious about the boys. If we can keep this just between us, I’d appreciate it.”
Taylor stood and walked around the desk, sitting in the chair next to Angie. “I’ll respect your wishes, but just know, if you need anything, I’m here.”
She patted Taylor’s hand. “You’re sweet, but I’ve always been independent. I got through most of my life alone; I can do this better by myself. I don’t want to worry about how the boys are feeling, or what my new boss thinks about my hairstyle.”
Taylor stayed in the chair for a while after Angie left. One more reason to call this thing with Jesse off. She’d never be able to keep a secret this big from someone she loved. Slept with, she amended. Not love; not yet.
