by Gun Brooke
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Praise for Gun Brooke
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Greer Landon is a successful art gallery owner. She has created an empire by discovering and developing new artists. When she agrees to visit an art school in Boston, she encounters a woman, Hayden Rowe, whose paintings take her breath away. Greer realizes Hayden is not a student, but lives in a remote wing of the school and the maddeningly frustrating headmaster is her mother. Mesmerized by Hayden and her art, Greer learns the young woman has Asperger syndrome. Hayden awakens something in Greer she didn’t know she was capable of. Having suffered from a profound loneliness for most of her life, Greer develops an overshadowing love and protectiveness toward Hayden. As she learns more about Hayden and her heartbreaking family situation, Greer is amazed at how courageous and brilliant she is.
Can there be a future with a woman like this, and will Hayden, who can only put words to her emotions through her paintings, return her feelings?
Praise for Gun Brooke
Fierce Overture
“Gun Brooke creates memorable characters, and Noelle and Helena are no exception. Each woman is “more than meets the eye” as each exhibits depth, fears, and longings. And the sexual tension between them is real, hot, and raw.”—Just About Write
Coffee Sonata
“In Coffee Sonata, the lives of these four women become intertwined. In forming friendships and love, closets and disabilities are discussed, along with differences in age and backgrounds. Love and friendship are areas filled with complexity and nuances. Brooke takes her time to savor the complexities while her main characters savor their excellent cups of coffee. If you enjoy a good love story, a great setting, and wonderful characters, look for Coffee Sonata at your favorite gay and lesbian bookstore.”—Family & Friends Magazine
Sheridan’s Fate
“Sheridan’s fire and Lark’s warm embers are enough to make this book sizzle. Brooke, however, has gone beyond the wonderful emotional explorations of these characters to tell the story of those who, for various reasons, become differently-abled. Whether it is a bullet, an illness, or a problem at birth, many women and men find themselves in Sheridan’s situation. Her courage and Lark’s gentleness and determination send this romance into a ‘must read.’”—Just About Write
Course of Action
“Brooke’s words capture the intensity of their growing relationship. Her prose throughout the book is breathtaking and heart-stopping. Where have you been hiding, Gun Brooke? I, for one, would like to see more romances from this author.”—Independent Gay Writer
September Canvas
In this character-driven story, trust is earned and secrets are uncovered. Deanna and Faythe are fully fleshed out and prove to the reader each has much depth, talent, wit and problem-solving abilities. September Canvas is a good read with a thoroughly satisfying conclusion.—Just About Write
The Supreme Constellations Series
“Protector of the Realm has it all; sabotage, corruption, erotic love, and exhilarating space fights. Gun Brooke’s second novel is forceful with a winning combination of solid characters and a brilliant plot. The book exemplifies her growth as inventive storyteller and is sure to garner multiple awards in the coming year.”—Just About Write
“Brooke is an amazing author, and has written in other genres. Never have I read a book where I started at the top of the page and don’t know what will happen two paragraphs later. She keeps the excitement going, and the pages turning.”—MegaScene
Soul Unique
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eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Soul Unique
© 2015 By Gun Brooke. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-176-5
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: July 2015
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Art by Gun Brooke
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Romances:
Course of Action
Coffee Sonata
Sheridan’s Fate
September Canvas
Fierce Overture
Speed Demons
The Blush Factor
Soul Unique
Supreme Constellations series:
Protector of the Realm
Rebel’s Quest
Warrior’s Valor
Pirate’s Fortune
Exodus series:
Advance
Novella Anthology:
Change Horizons
Acknowledgments
Oh my, I was scared and apprehensive to write this story. I never thought I’d manage a whole novel written in the first person, but that’s the only way I could write this story about a woman falling in love with someone who has Asperger’s syndrome. It would never have worked without the support of my friend Laura in Texas. She encouraged me, nagged me, cheered me on, read everything, and commented LOUDLY in the margin…So, Laura, thank you for loving this story and really getting the characters. Your advice was invaluable.
Rad, aka Len Barot, owner of Bold Strokes Books—thank you for providing a home for me as a writer. Ten years and counting…
Shelley Thrasher, editor and friend—thank you for making the editing phase fun and quite easy to follow. After all these years, we work together smoothly and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You challenge me, and when I come back with other ideas, you are always generous about it. The times you point out sentences that stand out more than usual, in a good way, you make my day.
Sandy Lowe, senior editor—you are a miracle. Always fast to respond, always so nice, and always THERE. Thank you for your patience and professionalism. You totally rock.
Cindy Cresap, Stacia Seaman, Lori Anderson, Connie Ward…and all of the nameless (for me) proofreaders and editors who make up this BSB family—you are unsung heroes in my book. Thank you.
Then there are the people I love and who by their mere existence encourage me to continue writing. Elon, of course, who holds my heart and whom I could never be without. Malin
and Henrik, my children, who aren’t children anymore—except to me and their father. My grandchildren, who inspire me endlessly by making me laugh until I need my inhaler. Son-in-law Pentti, brother Ove, sister-in-law Monica, nephews, nieces-in-law…the list is long and yet we’re a pretty small family. I am ever grateful to have you all and I don’t take you for granted. Each day is precious and I try to pour this sense of family into my novels even if it is perhaps only between two or three people. The sense of belonging. So important and so precious.
The last, but most important group for me to thank is my READERS. You are entirely awesome and so sweet with your comments on my Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, email, and so on. I cherish every single word you write me and try to respond in a timely manner. I’ve received such humbling notes from some of you, it has brought me to tears. I know very well that what I write isn’t rocket science. But the way you’ve described how some of my stories have been just what you needed to escape and regroup to face yet another tough day is amazing. That gives me courage to take more pride in my work. Knowing that a story I wrote made a difference in someone’s life is bewilderingly wonderful.
Thank you all. I hope you like this story, and if you want to write me, I promise to reply. ☺
To Elon, with all my love
Chapter One
“Greer Landon! Finally you’re here. I’m so delighted you could make it.” A compact woman in her late fifties approached me with a broad, toothy smile. Dressed in a pink skirt suit, a pale-pink blouse, and with beads around her neck, her wrists, and in her ears, she looked like a little girl’s dream birthday cake. “The students have prepared an exhibition for you. I think you’ll be impressed.” Her nasal Martha Stewart voice was already grating on my nerves.
I moaned inwardly. It was beyond impolite to answer “don’t be so sure,” but that was how I felt. Leyla Rowe, richer than most and careful to mention just how old that money was, had laid siege at my office for the last four months, begging me to visit her establishment. In the end, India, my assistant, had threatened to take a permanent leave of absence if I didn’t get Mrs. Rowe off her back. So here I was, ready to be “impressed.”
“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Rowe.” I gave her my best alligator version of a smile, knowing full well it put the fear of nameless deities into most people, but not this individual.
“Oh, do call me Leyla. This way, this way.” She waved her hand as if I were a reluctant tourist. “The students are on the second floor. As you might be aware, Rowe Art School is most selective when we screen applicants. We choose only the very best of the best.”
“Imagine that.” A groundbreaking business idea if I’d ever heard one.
“Excuse me?” Leyla’s smile was still in place, but a small frown appeared between her expertly drawn eyebrows.
“Good strategy.” Clenching my jaw, I wanted to turn and walk out of there, but no doubt the woman would chase me and drag me back. She looked like the type.
I followed her through the old, impressive hallway, up a winding, broad marble staircase. At the top, enormous mirrors with pompous gold frames lined the entire corridor. I glanced into them, wondering who in their right mind thought this gothic style would be inspiring. They confirmed that I looked the part of a wealthy, powerful gallery-chain owner. Soft gray slacks, white shirt, a darker-gray trench coat, and my signature messenger bag slung over my shoulder. A second quick glance assured me my short, strawberry-blond hair was still flawless.
“Here’s where we hold our advanced courses. Maestro Gatti is teaching this particular class.” Leyla motioned toward a closed double door.
“Maestro Gatti?” I couldn’t keep the cynicism out of my voice. “As in Frederick Gatti?” If it was the man I had come across when I lived a year in Rome, this art school was in for an unpleasant awakening.
“Yes, yes. He’s new to our faculty and quite popular among the students. Of course, being such a handsome fellow, he’s surely making some of the girls’ hearts throb a bit extra, but he’s most professional about it.”
Leyla had no idea how much effort it took for me not to laugh out loud. Frederick Gatti, womanizer and wannabe painter, had already tried in Rome to pass himself off as a maestro, which didn’t fly with the Italians. Many of them knew their art very well, and for this man to cut corners and invent himself a career just hadn’t worked. So he was in Boston now, trying the same thing here.
“Let’s pay them a visit,” Leyla said and knocked on the door.
“Oh, yes. Let’s.” Things were looking up. I wondered if Gatti would remember me and the part I’d played in his exit from the Rome art scene.
Leyla swept into the classroom where eight students stood behind their easels. They all focused on the man on the dais in front of them. Dressed all in black and with a classic beret to add to his maestro image, Frederick Gatti also boasted a becoming goatee. I was chuckling inside my head again. Of course he knew to dress the part. Pity he couldn’t paint.
“Madame Rowe,” he said in what even I had to concede was a charming Italian accent, and rushed to greet Leyla. “You are like the angels. I need you to solve a matter of importance.”
“What on earth has you this upset, Maestro?” Leyla took his hands in hers.
“It’s that—that girl of yours. She barged in here, frightened my students, questioned my teaching. Nobody—nobody—treats me in such a rude manner. It just isn’t done!”
So, I hadn’t been forceful enough with him in Rome. I looked around, trying to spot said rude girl, but the eight frozen-in-place students who stood there didn’t look ready to criticize anyone. Nobody moved or said anything.
“Oh, Maestro, I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to her. She’s not supposed to come down here and disturb the classes, but she forgets. You know she can’t help herself.” Leyla tapped her right temple and smiled.
“How about a guardian, or a key?” Gatti said, showing off his white veneered teeth in a snarl. “I simply cannot work under these circumstances. It’s impossible.”
Leyla looked furious now, and something told me that Rude Girl, and not Gatti, was the reason. “Leave it to me, Maestro. In the meantime, I have a surprise to cheer you up. I’ve tried for months to get the most influential art-gallery owner in the U.S. to visit us. I’m sure you’ve heard of Greer Landon.”
“Hello again, Maestro Gatti,” I said in my best silky voice and stepped into his field of vision.
“Madame Landon.” He blanched and turned to Leyla. “This is insanity. You are trying to drive me out of my mind. You allow that girl to roam the halls of this school, and then you bring her. That woman,” he said, pointing at me with a shaking finger, “has gone out of her way to destroy my good name all over Europe.”
“Aw, come on, Maestro,” I said, making sure my voice was scathing as well as playful. “I don’t have that much influence. I merely questioned some pieces you worked on in Rome. That was ten years ago. Water under the bridge.”
“You made me into a laughingstock.”
“No, no. I can’t take credit for that.” I raised my hand to stop his flow of words. “You did that all on your own.”
“What are we talking about here?” Leyla asked, smiling too broadly. “I don’t understand.”
“Frederick Gatti is not a good artist. He’s an even worse teacher, Mother. These students are good, but since he started working here, they haven’t developed their skills,” a beautiful alto voice said very matter-of-factly.
I turned around to face the newcomer. A young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, stood in the doorway. She regarded us all with serious, dark-gray eyes and seemed unimpressed with Gatti’s enraged growl. The woman looked over at me instead, raising her eyebrows as if my presence was a surprise, which I surmised it was.
She wore blue jeans, a black, sleeveless button-down shirt, and sneakers. I wondered if she was a disgruntled student, but Gatti’s reaction suggested this just might be Rude Girl.
“Hayden, how dare you talk
to Maestro Gatti that way?” Leyla said, her anger dissolving the veneer that she was a perfect, amicable host. “Leave the school area at once and return to your wing.”
I cringed, something I never do, at the way Leyla talked to Hayden. “This girl’s right, you know,” I said, not sure if that would help. Fascinated, I saw Hayden whip her glance my way. She seemed to scan me, inch by inch, and then she left without another word.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Gatti bellowed. “This girl is crazy. Absolutely crazy.”
“She seems like she knows enough to determine the level of your so-called expertise.” I was getting tired of this charade. “Mrs. Rowe, Leyla, is this screaming match what I came here to witness? So far I haven’t seen any semblance of talent.”
“These students, they’re my most advanced—”
“Yes, you keep saying that,” I said, not interested in prolonging this pain. “Yet none of them has anything remotely interesting or indicative of talent sitting on their easels. Perhaps that is Gatti’s fault, to a point, but if this is your best, I don’t see any reason for me to continue the tour. I’m sure you realize I’m very busy.”
Leyla pulled her pink lips back in a grimace of a smile. “Your lack of interest will no doubt have an adverse effect on my willingness to endorse your galleries. I’ve always sent true art lovers your way, used my good name, because I was hoping—”
