by Ava Miles
The affection in his voice was evident. She expected he was teasing about his twin. “There’s seven of you, if I remember,” she said.
“Yep, we’re a handful,” he said. “And you’ve got four siblings. Andy, Natalie, Matt, and Moira. You’re after Natalie.”
“Yes, but it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. How did you—”
“I have a good memory, especially since one of my singular worst punishments as a kid involved you.” His smile was almost lop-sided. “Technically I was trying to hit Trev with the mud, but no one seemed to care about that. I really want to apologize.”
It had happened at a big party at Uncle Arthur’s house. A couple of older boys had chased her and gotten her pretty dress all dirty. “There’s really no need to apologize.”
He held up his hands. “The fact that I’ve been called The Mud Slinger most of my life suggests otherwise.”
“Your family—”
“Everyone called me that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Uncle Arthur said my fame continued in your family too. What can I say? We were ten and mud was our superhero protoplasm. You were five, as I recall. You’re twenty-nine now, right?”
Nodding, she watched as he leaned against the counter in the break room and unbuttoned his jacket.
“You had a yellow dress on with a white cowl and looked adorable. The adults—Uncle Arthur especially—busted our butts for getting you dirty. I made you cry.”
“You did,” she said, rolling her eyes in embarrassment. “I was a peaceful kid.”
“Andy and Natalie weren’t peaceful, as I recall. After your mom took you inside to clean you up, they jumped out of a tree and attacked Trev and me in retaliation. Your sister knocked my loose tooth out. I got gypped by the tooth fairy that night after being given my first spanking. Now I know it was my parents’ way of driving home a lesson about not throwing mud at people.”
She could feel her lips twitch. “It’s a good life lesson.”
Some of his sparkle died, and she wondered why. “Indeed. Where’s the coffee? I’ll make it while you keep watch to make sure no one sneaks into the gallery and steals a masterpiece.”
“That’s nice of you,” she said. “It’s in the cabinet. I hate those pod things.”
“Me too. Living in Rome has made me a coffee snob. Go on. I’ve got this.”
She left him in the break room, deciding a moment away from his engaging personality would be good for her. The man had charisma in spades. Taking some calming breaths, she walked over to the orange couch in the corner of the gallery and sat down. J.T. was acting like he knew her, which was weird. Other than the mud incident, she couldn’t remember him.
When he appeared with two coffee mugs and that engaging smile, she looked up. “Why don’t I remember seeing you in Dare Valley after the famed mud incident?”
He sat down beside her, close enough for his thigh to brush hers. “We stopped going there after that summer. I really missed it. Some of my happiest memories were our summers there. You know, your cousin Meredith and I used to pretend she was a reporter and I was someone famous. She’d interview me, scribbling down notes in her spiral notebook. Then there was Jill. She was a pistol.”
“Still is,” she said. “She just posed like a Picasso model in the town’s calendar to raise money for cancer.”
“Uncle Arthur told me. I need to get a copy.”
“You call him Uncle Arthur,” she observed.
He picked up his coffee. “Everyone in the Merriam family calls him that. Even my parents and grandparents. He’s been an honorary member of the family ever since he and my great-great grandfather, Emmits, became friends. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when they talked about their visions.”
There was something wistful in his voice. “You’re running your family company’s oil and gas operations in Africa and the Middle East,” Caroline said. “That sounds pretty visionary to me, especially in these times.”
His shoulder lifted. “It’s not as exciting as it sounds. For a while now, it’s been pretty dangerous and really depressing. There are a lot of good people getting hurt by politics, and it’s a struggle not to feel like shit about it.”
She paused in sipping her coffee and glanced sharply at him.
“Don’t mind me,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “Trev says I’m certifiable right now. Which is a great segue to why I’m here. I’d like to fly you to Rome to look at part of the family’s art collection.”
Taking a fortifying sip of her coffee, she leaned back against the couch. “Fly me to Rome? Just like that?”
“Well, it’s a great city, and the best place to start. We have more art in Napa, but my parents live there. I’d rather not bring you around the family just yet.”
She wondered why, but refrained from asking. “Uncle Arthur said you wanted to bring the collection back to Dare Valley. What made you… Well, why did you suddenly decide to do this?”
“When Evan announced Artemis, it kinda got me thinking,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Our family has been receiving pressure for years—and I mean decades—to give the bulk of our art collection to a museum. You wouldn’t believe the lengths to which some of the museum curators have gone. One of them even propositioned my mom. My dad was outraged.”
“As he should have been,” she said. “I’ve been surprised by some of the things I’ve seen in the art world.”
“Yeah, it’s a small community. Plenty of petty jealousies, artistic rivalries, feuds.” His mouth pursed. “Then there are the sexual interludes. So many people have slept with the same people. Good thing I realized that after my one moronic dive into that pond.”
She had to bite her lip to keep her mouth from dropping open. “Ah…well, not everyone acts like that.”
His mouth tipped up to the side. “Uncle Arthur said you were smarter than that. Although, trust me, I learned my lesson. Trev is on call to warn me away from any art or painter temptresses.”
His jaw was tight, and she suspected there was some personal edge to all this, something she wasn’t privy to. “Anything I need to know?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I just need an unbiased expert to peruse our collection and work with me on arranging it by theme. Uncle Arthur thought you’d be the right person for the job.”
“But I have a job,” she said, gesturing to the gallery.
“I know that. I was going to suggest a long weekend in Rome to kick things off. You can decide if you want to continue. But I’ll warn you. Once you see what I have in Rome, you’re not going to be able to stop there. You’ll want to come with me to my parents’ house in Napa.”
A long weekend? Why did she think he was underestimating things? “How many paintings do you have in Rome?”
“With the acquisition of the Milo today, the count is three hundred and thirty-three.”
She gasped. “You’re kidding! You have to be kidding.”
“We have one hundred and eighty-two painting in Napa,” he said. “I got the lion’s share as I’m the only one of my siblings who cares about art.”
“How is that possible?”
“They’re cretins,” he joked, his dimple winking. “All six of them.”
She doubted that, but she was still in shock. “Let me get this straight. You have over five hundred paintings in your collection.”
“Well, we have close to seven hundred, but my dad’s sister is a bitch. She stole some art from the house in the Hamptons the day my grandma died. We’re leaving that alone for now, although I have some ideas on how to force her hand.”
Creating a Merriam Art Museum might change her mind, especially if the press heard there was more to the collection. “Long weekends? Are you crazy?”
“I told you Trev thinks I’m certifiable,” he said, holding his hands out in a charming way. “Don’t worry. Everything has already been catalogued. The provenance is in place. I discovered one painting had been stolen by the Nazis and later sold to
Emmits with fake provenance. My lawyer found the family and returned the painting.”
She sat back, stunned. “You tracked down a family the Nazis had stolen art from and gave it back? Who are you?”
“I take stolen art very seriously,” he said with a glower. “Despite my laid-back attitude about a lot of things, I have a code, and I don’t break it.”
Laid back? He was putting her on, right? “A long weekend isn’t going to cut it.”
“Of course it will,” he said. “We’ll work long hours, but you’ll see everything. Trust me, it will help you form your initial impressions. I can give you my thoughts, and we can go from there.”
“How long have you been working on this idea?” she asked, noting that his wheat-colored hair curled at the ends.
“Since last May,” he responded with a wink. “I had some time on my hands. Trust me, it’s going to be great. I’ll have my private jet bring you over. You can stay at a hotel or with me. I have a four-bedroom flat near the Piazza di Spagna. You’ll love it. We’ll look at art. Drink wine. Eat awesome food. And I can tell you more about the museum.”
Private plane? Piazza di Spagna? She shook her head. “I’ll need to think about it.”
He checked his watch. “Of course. Look, I hate to dash off, but I need to meet with Evan. I’m leaving for Rome shortly afterward, but here’s my number. You can call me when you’ve thought it through.”
She took the card he handed her. His name and mobile number were engraved in gold. “This is pretty grand.”
“I’m old-fashioned,” he said, standing up. “I like personal calling cards. I told you. Rome changed me.”
Coming to her feet, she found she was suddenly a little unsteady on her three-inch black boots.
His hand cupped her arm. “Easy.”
She firmed her shoulders. “I’m fine. J.T., when did you fly into Denver?”
“This morning,” he said with a smile before walking toward the break room, likely for his coat, she realized.
He was shrugging into it when he returned.
“You flew in from Rome for a few hours?” she asked.
“Welcome to my world, Caroline.”
Chapter 14
Helga arrived in her usual good mood, which didn’t irritate Chase for once.
“I see you’re already dressed,” she commented as she took off her coat and hung it in the closet.
“It only took thirty minutes. I’m improving my time. Five minutes less than yesterday.”
“The pants I altered helped, didn’t they?” She looked smug.
“I still have to contort my body like I’m playing Twister to get into them,” he said, “but it’s good to do it myself.” It humiliated him to even think about how much he’d needed to rely on her in his first few days home from the hospital.
“I can’t imagine you playing Twister,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
He couldn’t either. The game was frivolous.
“How was the pork?” she asked.
“Excellent,” he told her. “You should have some. Maybe make a sandwich later with the leftover bread Margie brought?”
“Sounds wonderful.” She approached him. “Are you looking forward to Andy’s visit today?”
“If he can spring me from this prison faster so I can return to work, yes,” he said. “You don’t call him Dr. Hale, I noticed.”
Her round face was transformed by a soft smile. “Andy asks everyone at the hospital to call him by his first name, from the lab techs to the nursing staff. He doesn’t have an ego like some doctors do.”
Chase liked hearing that somehow. It was nice to know Moira’s brother was a good guy. The mere thought of her was enough to remind him of that kiss. Would she show up later?
“How do you know Andy?” Chase asked.
The smile faded from her face. “I was his first wife’s home health nurse before she died.”
“I remember Evan mentioning something about that in passing,” he said, wishing he’d paid more attention. “But I don’t remember what he said.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “It’s in the past now. Kim died of cancer and left him with a beautiful little boy. She was a lovely woman, and it broke his heart to lose her. But he’s a strong one. I couldn’t be happier that he’s found love again.”
“Lucy, right?” His brain was still a little fuzzy when it came to obscure details like this. He followed her as she moved into the kitchen.
“Yes,” Helga said, beginning to make them coffee, as she regularly did when she arrived. “She’s also lovely.”
“Two chances at love.” Chase whistled. “That defies the odds.”
“You strike me as a man who defies the odds as a point of pride,” she said, giving him that penetrating look of hers.
Helga and Moira could bond over their fondness of staring him down. He stared right back.
“In the business world,” he said, reaching for the cup of coffee she extended to him. “You make damn good coffee. Didn’t Andy live in Denver before?”
“Yes,” she said, sipping her coffee after adding a splash of milk. “What would you like to do until he gets here?”
“Wait,” he said, his brain finally putting the pieces together. “Helga, where do you live?”
“In a suburb outside Denver,” she said. “How about we do some leg and arm exercises?”
He wheeled forward in his scooter. “Are you driving here every day from Denver?” The trip was anywhere from an hour to an hour and a half, depending on what part of town she lived in.
“Yes,” she said. “Evan offered to put me up in a hotel here, but I like my things. And my kitties. Don’t you dare pretend to be surprised that I have cats. You could benefit from one, let me tell you. They’re natural healers. Did you know their bodies’ rhythms are opposite of humans’? They can help a person’s energy flow better. Everyone focuses on recovery dogs, but they’re missing out when it comes to cats.”
“Helga, my brain is too concussed to deal with everything you just said.” He set his coffee cup on his good knee. “Why take a job this far away? That’s a horrible commute.” And he was used to D.C. traffic, second only to Los Angeles.
“Andy called and asked me,” she said simply.
“Just like that?” he asked. “Didn’t you have other patients?”
“I retired last year,” she said. “Working with you has only confirmed how wise I was to do so.”
He couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not, and he was getting to know her enough to guess she’d probably intended it that way. “But it’s so far away.” No way did he want Helga sleeping down the hall, but surely he could convince her to stay at The Grand Mountain Hotel? “You should work from here. We can put you up—”
“Evan already did everything he could to convince me, Chase,” she said, patting his good shoulder. “The drive is lovely.”
She arrived at eight a.m. every day. “But you must get up at the crack of dawn.”
“Always have,” she said matter-of-factly.
So had he. He wasn’t going to ask if Evan was covering her transportation expenses. He knew he was. “All right, if that’s the way you want it. Now, I want to pick up what you said about cats.”
“I can bring you one, if you’d like,” she said with a sly smile.
“I’m not that desperate for a cure,” he said, but then he wondered. Wasn’t he? Every morning he woke up with a thousand worries. How was Rajan handling the final testing of MAL-77? How was the bid going? How had his European trip been split up between the team members? Were the meetings going well? And on it went.
“Of course,” she said in a neutral tone.
“The other day you mentioned the link between happiness and healing faster,” he said, wanting to kick himself. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Now you’re talking about cats. What else… I can’t believe I’m about to ask this.”
There was a smile lurking in the corners of her mouth. “Yes?”
“What other kinds of healing modalities can I try to heal faster?” he asked, letting go of the preconception that such things were woo-woo and unscientific. “I’ve heard a lot about acupuncture, of course. I’ve even read about some of the energy stuff. Plenty of medical professionals have come out and said alternative healing modalities are effective. Dr. Oz, for example. Then there’s Deepak Chopra, also a physician. What do you think?”
She took another sip of coffee. “I’ve seen them be very effective. I’m glad you’re open to them. Certainly it will work wonders on the nausea you have from the concussion.”
“It’s getting better,” he said, trying to focus on the positive.
Of course, he had rolled over wrong in the middle of the night and almost gotten sick from the pain.
There was no way Moira was going to be able to stay the night if they went that far. Some moments he wondered what the hell he was thinking. How in the world was he supposed to pleasure her like he wanted to? A kiss was one thing—and it had been awkward as hell before he’d put his mouth on her. But sex? He kept trying to focus on being creative—where there was a will there was a way, right?—but self-doubt crept in. What if he couldn’t pleasure her in his condition? What if he let himself down as a man or looked weak?
“Do you want me to make some appointments for you?” she asked. “I have a list of practitioners I trust.”
“Are they in Denver?” he asked.
“Yes, but we can get them out here,” she said with a determined nod. “Evan was clear that nothing should be seen as an obstacle to you receiving the best care possible. I can bump you up on their schedules.”
He hadn’t expected anything less from his friend. Or from Helga, for that matter. “How do you feel about feng shui?” If he was going to go down this road, he might as well go big.
“The studies are less clear, but personally I can tell when a room or a home is conducive to healing.”
“How are we doing here?” he asked, cocking a brow.
“Not great,” she said. “It’s homey, but this isn’t your home, so it doesn’t have a feeling of comfort or familiarity. You also don’t have any photos of you as a healthy person. Don’t laugh, but sometimes that’s a huge motivator. I’ve had a few Stage-Four cancer patients tape photos of themselves on the walls of their hospital rooms and focus on the bodies they used to have. Of course they continued with the treatments too. But they went into remission. I like to call that a full-court press.”
