by Tanya Stowe
Troy paused just long enough to gesture to the crates. “The donor plaques have arrived, and they’re all wrong. We’ll have to proof all the errors and return them to Flagstaff today in order for them to be ready by Saturday.” He sighed. “And their business office closes at five.”
Lara glanced at her watch. “Only three hours away.”
“Don’t forget the drive. It’ll take half an hour to get there and we’ve only just begun,” Brett said.
“Give me a list of donors, and I’ll start comparing names and spellings.”
Soon, Lara was immersed in lists. She made better time than either of the men. Within an hour, she was compiling her list with Brett’s and Troy’s as they loaded the boxes into Troy’s car. Lara suggested Brett go with him.
“I have piles of applicants to sort through still,” he said.
“I can sort. Just give me the criteria,” Lara offered.
Troy agreed. “I’d feel better if we both handled this. We can’t afford another mistake.”
Brett gave Lara a quick walk-through of the process while Troy locked down the facility. Then Troy showed her how to arm the building’s security.
Lara stood at the entrance and waved goodbye. Back inside, she poured a cup of tea, then settled comfortably behind Brett’s desk and started sorting. The primary qualification for the school was the ability to afford the substantial tuition.
Alex was right.
The pile of qualified applicants lagged behind the unqualified.
One application came from the parents of an autistic son. They’d sent photos, which all started in a blurred world. The images were smudged as if seen through a dirty lens. Then one object would come clear. Two or three objects in the picture would be perfect and from those pieces, the subject could be determined. One was a picture of children playing in the park. Another was a classroom and a city street.
Lara was seeing the world as this autistic child saw it.
The parents were certainly not able to afford the school’s tuition.
Lara tossed the application into the discard pile.
The next discards were a young Native American boy who worked with clay, and a teenage girl who sang opera like a diva, but sat in a wheelchair.
The more Lara worked, the more discouraged she became.
The criteria for the school had been established long before, probably when her mother was still alive…her idea, her dream. As a patron of the arts, she would have been most concerned with the quality of the work.
Lara couldn’t help but think about Christy. The happiness in the girl’s eyes when she completed the workout earlier that day was worth a thousand dollars. What would it be like to give these children the same opportunity to succeed? When the last application was finally sorted, she stared at the large stack of discards, hurting over the fact that behind each one was a child worthy of help.
But what could she do?
Brett had already over-committed funds and refused to budge on this issue. Her father would never approve more money for dormitories and besides, most of these children would need supervision of some sort. That meant additional personnel, wages, benefits.
Alex had been unequivocally correct. The Fallon School of Art was an exclusive facility for rich children…not for needy ones.
And she could do nothing about it. She couldn’t even be responsible for her own future. Frustrated, she shoved the applications aside and leaned forward on the desk.
In front of her was Brett’s large, leather-bound check ledger. Helpless and frustrated, she flipped open the cover and thumbed the pages. Staring at the edge of the sheets, laying one on top of the other, she noticed a space, as if a page were missing.
Curious, she slid her nail into the space and lifted the pages. It appeared an entire sheet, three checks in all, had been torn out of the book with their carbon sheet. Lara checked the numbers on the previous page and the one after to verify the number sequence. The ledger was definitely missing the three checks and their carbon.
Lara wrote a note to leave on Brett’s desk, and then decided against it. A message about missing checks was not one she should leave lying around.
Just as she threw it into the trash, she heard someone at the door. Time had flown by. Her driver must have returned to pick her up. Shutting off the lights in the office, she locked the building and set the alarm.
She’d not had the chance to speak with Brett about their relationship. Now she needed to discuss two things with him—where they were going as a couple, and the missing checks.
8
Lara twirled her champagne glass by its stem and tried very hard not to look bored as Rupert Townsend expounded on the beauty of modern décor. According to him, the smooth, pure lines were perfect for the desert landscape. His home in Oak Creek Canyon was a perfect example and she would have to come and see.
Not if I have to listen to you for hours on end. She’d been listening to Rupert almost since they’d arrived at the small French restaurant.
Eliza had rented the establishment for a dinner party of thirty or so…the select few.
The minute Rupert saw Lara standing on the small balcony over the ravine, he’d made his way to her side.
Had her mother ever really been attracted to this self-absorbed man? Or was it the other way around? Was he so attracted to her he’d spent a lifetime loving her from afar? Lara looked at him, wondering what he’d been like as a young man.
“And just what is that look all about, missy?”
He was too sharp. Caught red-handed, she decided honesty was the best policy.
“I was wondering what you looked like when you were younger,” she said.
“What on earth led to this line of thought?”
Lara twirled her glass. “You and my mother,” she said rather bluntly.
All the belligerent posturing fled from his features. “I see,” he said in a low voice. “You do cut to the chase, don’t you?”
“I’m not as good at socializing as my mother.”
Townsend slanted her a look. “What is it you want to know about us?”
Lara walked to edge of the patio. The balcony extended over a small but deep ravine with a stream at the bottom. She looked down on the tops of trees and shrubs growing at the stream’s edge. Light reflected off the patio into the dark swirls of brush, and she could hear the gurgle of water. She set her glass on the flat, wooden top rail and turned back to Rupert. “I don’t want to know anything about the past. I just want to know why you’re here.”
Rupert twirled his own bourbon glass as a wry smile slipped over his features. “It’s the social event of the season.”
She shook her head. “You’ve been mocking it since you arrived. And as far as I can tell, you’re not here to invest, so why did you come?”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked, fixing his gaze on her.
“I think I already do. I think you came to see how badly my father would screw up my mother’s dream.”
One of his eyebrows rose before he sipped his drink. “You’re much more perceptive than you pretend, little Lara.”
She shrugged and turned away. Leaning on the railing, she peered into the dark crevasse in front of her.
Rupert stood beside her, his hand in his pocket and his drink held before him like a shield. “I take it you don’t approve of my reasons for being here.”
“My approval or disapproval doesn’t matter. I just don’t see the point. My mother is gone. It doesn’t matter to her one way or another and I assure you, Mr. Townsend, your gloating is not impacting my father. So what’s the point?”
“Not only are you perceptive but you have claws.” He sighed heavily. “I’d like to think something that means so much to me would affect your father in some way.”
“My father is a very self-contained man. The only person who could ever reach him was my mother. Now that she’s gone, very little touches him. If I’ve come to accept that fact, you should be able to.”
>
For the first time, Lara saw a softness in his gaze. “Has it been very hard being his daughter?”
Lara met his sympathetic look squarely. “At times, it was harder being my mother’s daughter.” She’d shocked him.
He’d clearly placed Sara Fallon on a pedestal for so long, he wasn’t willing to see her any other way.
Lara gripped her glass and leaned against the rail. “That’s all in the past,” she said. “What really matters now are the things she left behind. Her love for us, and her dream of a school to help children. It’s a good thing. My father is supporting her dream because he loved her. Doing it helps him to get through the days.”
“And you think I should do the same, turn my negative focus to a positive one and support the school?”
She shrugged. “If you cared for my mother as much as you say, it would seem only natural. You love art. So many children will grow up to create beautiful things for the world. And it bears the name of a woman you loved. How can you not support it?”
His wry smile returned as he studied his swirling bourbon glass. “You’re a clever, clever little cat, Lara,” he said in a quiet voice. “Consider me sufficiently chastised…and in spite of what you think, you’re very much like your mother.” Bending, he kissed her forehead and wandered away.
Had it worked? Would he invest? She had no way of knowing. But she had discovered something. Most of what she’d said to Rupert applied to her. The people she loved were in trouble. Her mother’s dream was falling apart. She couldn’t just stand by and watch it happen. This patio was full of her mother’s friends—many of whom were holding out. She intended to see those deep pockets emptied.
Needing strength to do something foreign to her, she took a deep breath, set her champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and headed for a group of businessmen. They were friends of her father’s, who’d somehow managed to take time out of their schedules to attend…unlike him. For the moment, Lara refused to dwell on the issue, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that her father’s influence would have brought his friends around much better than hers.
At first, the conversation was stilted. All of her energy went into appearing bright and unconcerned. But she was determined to give it her best shot, and soon, a few of them loosened up. One or two finally admitted their concerns about the school.
Brett was right.
Alex’s little speech had made the rounds.
People were questioning the direction and focus of the school.
Lara repeated what Brett had said about starts and stops with any new project. But wasn’t it wonderful they’d discovered the problem early enough to fix it? With an enigmatic smile, she left her words hanging in the air, as if a solution were already in the works. Nodding, she moved on to the next group. It became her modus operandi, and it created a stir.
Were people more surprised by what she said, or the fact that overnight, Sara’s quiet daughter had suddenly developed personality?
By the time dinner was served, Lara was exhausted. Keeping the smile on her face was all she could manage. She sat in front of her place card at the table and waited for Brett, Eliza, and Troy. Troy and Eliza finally joined her, but not before she’d drained almost a full glass of water.
The small dining room was designed with a French cottage motif. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, mauve-colored cabbage rose patterns adorned all the chairs and curtains, and fresh cut flowers filled numerous vases. Crystal and fine china sparkled on the tables, and the smells from the kitchen made Lara hungry.
Brett was still making the rounds as the waiter set a small salad in front of Lara.
Eliza stepped to the fireplace and made a short welcoming speech, and then invited everyone to begin eating.
Brett eased into the seat beside Lara…almost as if he’d been waiting for dinner to start.
She glanced at him, questions niggling at her mind. Was he avoiding her, or was she being overly sensitive?
As he bent over to scoot his chair forward, he whispered, “What on earth did you say to Rupert Townsend? He just offered me three hundred thousand dollars for the school and said I could thank you.”
Eliza made a small sound, and Troy froze with his fork in mid-air.
“Lara,” Eliza whispered. “What did you say?”
Uncomfortable, Lara picked at her salad. “Actually, I gave him a lecture about being a negative influence and told him to spend his time better.”
“You didn’t!” Eliza started to giggle.
“Someone should have been honest with him a long time ago,” she replied.
Eliza continued to laugh.
Troy smiled.
Brett shook his head. “You took a chance, Lara. It could have backfired. He could have left the event.”
Frowning, Lara stared at Brett. “But it didn’t. It worked and now we have the money.”
“Well, yes, but it could have been disastrous.”
Exasperated, Lara shoved her salad around the plate. “Someone had to do something, Brett.” She hesitated, but only for a moment. “And while we’re at it, you might as well know, I’ve talked it around that we have a solution to the curriculum problem on everyone’s mind.”
“You did what?”
“I hinted we have a solution.”
“You know we don’t.”
His attitude put her over the edge.
“Well, why don’t we?” she asked in a firm, low voice. “We have a multi-million dollar project and two years of work teetering on the brink of failure and instead of finding a solution, we’re crying ‘woe is me’ and throwing up our hands.”
Even in the soft firelight, she could see Brett’s jaw clench. “I told you why.”
Lara drew her breath. “Well, I don’t buy it. My father won’t stand by and see his money thrown away. He wants this school to be successful, and he’d be stupid not to forgive just about any mistake if a solution came with it.”
“Lara, you shouldn’t be meddling in this. You don’t understand everything that’s going on.”
“Then tell me what is going on, Brett, so I won’t make mistakes.”
He didn’t respond.
Her words hung in the air.
Brett’s gaze darted toward Eliza and Troy.
Lara’s dropped to the table.
The waiter came for her salad, and she let it go without having tasted a bite. She stared at the Chicken Cordon Bleu he placed in front of her.
“I think you’re right, Lara,” Troy said. “We’ve all been working so hard, we’ve let these last few hurdles overcome us.”
“I still can’t get over Rupert,” Eliza said. “You’re probably the only person in the world he’d let talk to him like that.”
“I’m Sara’s daughter. It makes sense,” she said with a half smile. The awkward moment passed, but not the discomfort. She nibbled at her chicken.
Brett reached for his glass. Apparently, he’d expected her to sit on her hands and pretend nothing was happening. Or did he just want her to stay out of it? Was he afraid she might discover something he didn’t want her to know? Lara placed her fork on her plate and let her hand drop to her lap.
Eliza said something about the chicken, and Lara made an appropriate reply.
As a creamy chocolate mousse was served, a waiter approached Brett and whispered to him. Brett excused himself.
Lara watched him go, wondering what could be so important to keep pulling him away.
Eliza rose. “I think it’s time we got this road trip on the road,” she said with a smile. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, addressing the small gathering. The firelight glinted off her hair and splashes of burnt orange and red reflected from the silk scarf at her neck. “As many of you know, some of the shop owners of Tlaquepaque Village have kept their doors open for us this evening. The village contains specialty shops and galleries I think you’ll find very interesting. One shop owner has a box of Havana cigars in stock and a blend of pipe tobacco just arrived
from England. He’s holding samples for those of you who might be interested. Also, there’s a special treat in the central plaza. So if you’ll join me, we’ll take the short stroll across the way.”
Lara stood and buttoned her long black jacket over the matching slacks she’d chosen to wear. She’d discovered evenings in the desert were as crisp and cold as winter evenings anywhere else. Her first night with the balmy weather had been an exception. The fact that there were balmy nights in the middle of winter still enchanted her. Above her, the sky was ebony and velvet. The stars were clear, crisp and sparkled like diamonds.
Milly Johansson broke away from her husband’s entourage and came toward her.
Lara stifled a groan. She wasn’t up to hearing more of Milly’s comments but at the same time, she couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings. There was something vulnerable about Milly that made Lara stand still and greet her with a smile.
“Hello,” Milly said in a quiet voice. “I wanted to let you know we’re not going to invest…at least not yet.”
Lara’s heart sank. “I’m sorry to hear that, Milly. Did your prayers tell you to do this, or are you concerned about the school’s direction?”
Milly shook her head. “My prayers have the most to do with it.” She stood for a few moments, her dark gaze uncertain and hesitant.
“So you’ve heard more bad news about me?”
Milly nodded again.
Lara laughed. “Trust me, Milly, all I’ve had since I got here is bad news. Nothing you can say will upset me any more than I already am.”
“You don’t understand,” Milly said with a shake of her head. “You’re headed for danger.”
Lara paused. A tingling started at her fingertips. She tried to play her reaction down. “And I’m going to meet a tall, dark stranger who will save me. Remember, I went to a fortune teller when I was fourteen.”
“You’ve already met him,” Milly said without pause. “You know he’s come to change your life and you know you must make a decision. But you’re confused, and danger is building all around you. It will make your decisions even more difficult.”
