by Casey Dawes
“It was the wind,” she claimed loudly.
“What wind? He just didn’t kick it correctly.”
“Since when are you a football expert?” she challenged.
“I watched it on TV in college. I even rooted for a team.” Kind of.
“Uh-huh.” She poked him in the ribs and laughed when he jumped.
He couldn’t wait to get her in the snow with a good old-fashioned snowball fight. Lord knew, he needed fun in his life.
Sue Anne and Zach were waiting at their pickup.
“Where are you parked?” Zach asked him.
Logan told him about the distant parking spot on the other side of Higgins.
“Hop in. We’ll drive you over.”
“Good, that way you can pick up the gift.”
“I can’t way to see it,” Sue Anne said as they squished into the cab together.
Traffic slowed them down, and it took them a good half hour to get to where he’d parked. When Logan opened the back of the SUV and handed the table to Zach, the couples’ eyes grew wide.
“Oh, my! It’s perfect!” Sue Anne exclaimed.
“You made this?” Zach asked in awe.
“It was really an experimental piece,” Logan said. “Don’t look too closely, or you’ll see the flaws.”
“Oh, stop,” Julie said. “It’s beautiful.”
“That’s for sure ... look at that grain.” The couple went on for several minutes talking about the quality of the piece.
Logan alternated between pride over the accomplishment and embarrassment at the praise. Compliments on his tennis had never gotten to him the way this was doing.
“Thank you,” Zach said as he gave Logan a handshake.
Sue Anne hugged him close before releasing him. Looking at him with a steady gaze, she said, “Stay. You belong here.”
Julie’s eyes filled with hope.
He wanted to give her everything she wanted, but he couldn’t give her what she wanted more than anything.
“I’m sure I’ll be back,” was all he could get out.
The friends said good-bye, and Julie hopped into the truck. He was quiet as he threaded his way back toward her place. Suddenly, he took a detour and parked by the Osprey Stadium on the river.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, holding out a hand.
“Okay.” Her voice was cautious.
He was quiet for a long time as they passed the water, the stray ducks, and the surfers almost lying still at Brennan’s Wave.
“I know this is a huge decision,” he finally said. “All I can promise is to do my best and respect your wishes. I won’t press you to do more than you’re ready to do, and I’ll make sure we’ll have a place to be when we come back to Montana.”
“I’m afraid,” she said.
“So am I.”
He pulled her close to him. “I will never hurt you. I promise.”
“Me, too,” she said.
He draped his arm around her, and they simply walked ... down past the cast-iron bear in front of one of the first Boone and Crockett buildings ... under the Higgins Street Bridge, as if by unspoken agreement, before turning around to head back to the car.
“Where would I live in New York?” she asked about halfway back on their journey.
He hesitated. His original idea about her living in his mother’s guest bedroom didn’t seem feasible anymore. His parents were nice enough, but the worlds were so different, he was afraid it would make Julie feel even lonelier.
All the same, he didn’t think she’d agree to be in his apartment with him, even though he had a spare bedroom.
“You can stay at my place,” he said. “You’ll have it all to yourself. I’ll stay with my parents.”
A panicked look crossed her face.
Shit.
“I’ll introduce you to your neighbors. They’re great people. You’ll like them. They’ll help you with whatever you need—and I’ll only be a phone call away.”
“Okay.” Her shoulders caved inwardly.
Did he have a clue about what he was doing?
“You’ll get used to it. I’ll take you to all the museums, and we’ll find a great art store. There’s a perfect place for you to paint in the apartment—lots of light. Give it a chance, honey. You’ll be happy.”
She nodded and put her arms around him.
He hugged her close. No matter what, he was going to make her life joyful and keep her safe.
• • •
Neon lights, horns, and the press of people made her first few days in the city headache producing. Tall buildings hemmed her in. How did people do this all their lives?
Logan’s apartment on the Upper East Side, as he called it, was better. The area avoided the worst crush of Manhattan and was borderline residential. People with leashed dogs strolled the streets and nodded hello. It wasn’t home, but it was bearable.
Each dog she ran into reminded her of Hobo. Sarah had taken the stray, although she said she was sure when the dog decided they weren’t coming back, he’d move on, finding someone who was more to his liking. He merely tolerated her.
Logan had hired a neighboring teen to take care of Wild Rose until they decided what to do with her.
Logan had been right. His apartment was perfect—a top floor filled with light and open space. He showed her where she should sleep and cleaned out an exercise slash storage room where she could paint.
But he’d changed somehow. The easy camaraderie between them had stiffened. They hadn’t had a sensual touch or passionate kiss since the plane bounced on the tarmac at LaGuardia Airport.
He remained the perfect gentleman—so much that she wanted to scream.
When she wasn’t in throngs of people, she was alone in her aerie, searching for inspiration. Like television, for her New York was “57 Channels (And Nothin’ On).”
Once a week they had dinner with his parents in their high-rise apartment. Tonight was the appointed night. They weren’t bad people, but they were alien. Babies, boyfriends, and the weather didn’t seem to apply here.
For the first time, she made her way to their place alone, proudly navigating the bus route downtown. Although he encouraged her to get a taxi, the prices were too dear.
She needed to stop letting Logan support her. He didn’t charge any rent for his apartment, he took her grocery shopping, and he gave her cash for incidentals. He kept telling her he had plenty, and she could take over when she started to sell again.
A bouquet of inexpensive daisies in her hand, she rang the doorbell next to the understated gray steel door. The long corridors of doors unnerved her—faceless entries to mysterious worlds where strangers went about their daily business, unaware of the people living feet away.
“Hello there, dear.” Mrs. Collins gave her the air kiss and touch on the arm she’d become used to. “Very pretty. Thank you.”
Julie followed her expertly dressed and coiffed hostess into the living room, where hors d’oeuvres sat waiting.
“Logan’s going to be a little late,” Mr. Collins said. “Apparently, he has exciting news.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” she said.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“A soda would be fine.”
The Collinses had a vast array of liquors and wines, which they were willing to share quite liberally, but she wasn’t comfortable with anything more than a glass of wine at dinner. At first, they’d tried to persuade her to try new things, but eventually, they’d stopped protesting.
“I’ve made a list of gallery owners you can contact,” Mrs. Collins said as she came back in and handed Julie a cream-colored note in neat penmanship. “These are all people who I know from boards or because we’ve purchased things from them. Please use my name. Someone should give you a chance. You’re very talented.”
“Wow. Thank you.” Julie stared at the ten names on the list. “This is generous.”
“Logan cares a great deal about you. We want to see yo
u succeed.”
Mrs. Collins smiled, and for once, the smile reached her eyes before her face quickly settled into an airbrushed mask.
Just give it time. She wasn’t prepared for me to show up on their doorstep with their son.
The sound of the front door unlocking drew everyone’s attention. Julie stood and walked to the hallway, wanting a few moments with Logan before his parents got to him.
He looked like an eager boy—hair freshly cut, face beardless and lean, and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, khakis, and boat shoes.
Nothing like the boot-heeled cowboy she’d started to fall in love with.
What was she doing here? Fish out of water didn’t begin to cover it.
She put a smile on her lips and crossed the remaining few feet to him.
“Hi, honey.” He gave her a brief hug and kiss, more reminiscent of his mother than his uncle. “Wait until you hear what happened today!”
He took her hand, and they returned to the living room, where his father handed him his customary predinner scotch.
“What’s your news, Logan?” his mother asked.
“I saw the doctor today. He says all the work I did in Montana paid off. I’m cleared to build my game back up and go pro.” Logan glanced at Julie. “If that’s what I ... we ... want.”
His eyes told her that it was indeed what he wanted—something he needed to prove to himself. If she stood in his way, he’d resent her. Maybe not at first but eventually.
Her heart took one last crack before she started to fortify it with steel barriers.
“That’s fantastic news!” she said, giving him a hug and the same superficial kiss he’d greeted her with. “How long before you’ll be ready to play professionally again?” How long do I have before I make a break for home?
“It’ll be a few months. I should be able to make a bid for the Australian Open.” He picked up Julie’s hand. “You’d love Australia—so much to see and do—great places to paint. We could take a few weeks after and see the Great Barrier Reef, maybe Uluru. Amazing places!”
She couldn’t see herself on another continent. She’d only left Montana for the first time. “How long would it take to get there?”
“About a day.” Logan chuckled. “Long plane ride—but worth it.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “That would be nice.”
Something in her voice must have caught his attention, because his gaze didn’t leave her for a few moments, and a brief line appeared in his forehead—not quite a frown but its beginnings.
“Mom told me she was giving you references to galleries. What do you think?”
“It’s wonderful. I can’t wait to show them my portfolio.” At the very least, she could apply for a job and start saving for a ticket back home if she needed it.
Crap. Didn’t look like she was going to get the happy ending after all.
“We were thinking of having a few friends over for Thanksgiving dinner—you know, to meet Julie and see you have almost recovered your old self.” Mrs. Collins placed her hand on Logan’s. “We’re definitely thankful for that.”
“That would be nice,” he said, with a note of caution in his voice that put Julie on alert. “Who did you have in mind?”
Mrs. Collins named a few families, then added, “You can invite a few friends from the academy. I hear Amy and Trevor are dating now—they’d be a nice couple.”
“I don’t think so,” Logan said. “I’m not ready for Deborah’s family.”
Was it Amy or Trevor who’d been related to Logan’s deceased girlfriend?
Suddenly, she was very tired of trying to follow this family’s subplots and unspoken plans. Even in the few weeks she’d been here, Logan had already reverted to someone she didn’t know. She wished she had more courage to stick it out, but she didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving with strangers or Christmas in the city.
She wanted her parents. She wanted home.
• • •
Julie made the rounds of the galleries that Mrs. Collins had suggested. Except for one, they were fairly dismissive.
“You’ve got a great quality here,” the woman said as she examined the prints of the art Julie had brought in to show. “I especially like this one.” She pointed to the scene she’d done for Logan. “The only thing missing, I think, is some wildlife. My clients have predefined ideas about the West, and it always includes wild game.” She smiled.
Julie nodded. She’d gotten a few books on drawing animals and was diligently working to improve her skill. A few freelance classes would help.
“Tell you what. When you have more work, preferably with animals of some type, come back and see me. I’d be happy to showcase one or two of your pieces in our newcomer’s area and see what happens. My clients are always looking for something new.”
“Thank you. Thank you a lot!”
The woman stood and shook her hand.
“Breaking in is always tough; that’s why I encourage young artists. Do you have the basics set up? Like a website with a portfolio? It will save you a lot of legwork.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. It’s a great suggestion.” And she knew just who could help her. Sue Anne was a whiz at a basic website.
A wave of longing for the open prairies swept over her as she walked down Lexington Avenue. Yes, the apartment had a beautiful space to paint, but she couldn’t paint mountains if she couldn’t see them. The gallery owner was giving her an opportunity. It was up to her not to blow it—even if that meant going home.
Chapter 19
Things were moving too fast. Logan could see it every time he looked at Julie. She was less sure of herself, uncomfortable in her own skin. While his parents were nice enough, they were reserved and not the kind of family she’d grown up in.
Somehow, they’d left Montana without him ever meeting that family. What did they think of that or of him? He’d certainly need to mend that fence in the spring.
No matter what, he’d get her back to Montana once warmer weather arrived. His first season back on tour would start intensifying then.
They needed to talk.
After he finished his tennis game at the club, he took a shower, and headed back to his apartment, stopping first for a bouquet of red roses.
All women liked roses, didn’t they?
He dropped his gym bag in the front entry of the apartment. “Julie?” he called up the stairs.
“Coming.” Her voice floated from the top floor.
“I got these for you,” he said when they both reached the living room.
“They’re lovely. Thank you.” She briefly kissed his cheek.
“We’ve been back a month,” he said. “It’s time to celebrate.”
“Sure.” She didn’t sound like a woman hell-bent on having a good time.
“Cocktail before we go?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Mind if I have one?”
“No problem. I need to change anyway.” She indicated her paint-spattered clothes.
When she came back, she was perfectly dressed for dinner in the city, but she looked like an actress—not a very good one—walking through her part.
“You look wonderful,” he said, giving her a brief hug.
So formal. So like his parents. Shit. He was screwing this up big time.
“I’m getting a schedule together of the tournaments. I hope you’ll be able to be with me a lot of the time. It’ll be a great way to see new places. We can talk about it over dinner.”
“I have my own career,” she’d said. “I need time to paint, not sit in planes.”
Yep. Way to go, Collins.
“I understand that. I was hoping you’d have time while I was at the courts to paint.”
She shook her head.
“The gallery owner I talked to the other day wants western scenes—Montana scenes. I need to go home to get some ideas and sketches.”
What if he took her back for a month and she found someone else?
&nb
sp; That would truly suck.
But he couldn’t turn himself into someone else for her, any more than she could do the same for him.
“I’m sure we can find a compromise. I can fly into Missoula with you, make sure everything’s okay at the ranch so you have everything you need.”
“And then go onto wherever you need to be.” There was an edge to her voice he’d never heard before.
He was missing something.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Why even have a relationship if we’re going to spend most of it apart? It’s not what I want at all. You were happy in Montana—we both were. You could do your woodwork. We’d get another horse and spend time riding—”
“On what? This is how I make my living, remember?” He had to calm down. “I was only playing around in Montana. Of course I was happy. It was temporary, pretend. Now I’m back to reality.”
And it sucks.
His hands itched to feel the character of wood, something the handle of a tennis racket couldn’t quite replace.
“Let’s walk to dinner,” he said. “Give us both a chance to calm down so we can have a productive discussion. It’s a pretty day, still warm for October.”
She picked at a flake of paint on her hand.
“Okay,” she finally said, but she didn’t look at him.
He took her hand. The sidewalks were busy with people coming home from work. He recognized a few and returned their greeting. The foliage of the trees in their sidewalk spaces had turned, giving added attraction to the fall day.
Couldn’t she see how nice this was?
Julie remained quiet.
A table was open at one of his favorite restaurants, a small place that served a nice glass of wine and a tapas-style menu of comfort food. Maybe the mac and cheese would cheer her up.
“What kind of wine would you like?” he asked.
“I’ll have a beer,” she said, almost defiantly. “Something light.”
He knew little about beer, except what he’d learned from her, and there was nothing familiar on the menu. Based on the descriptions, he chose a lager, with a red wine for himself.
