The declaration drew hoots of laughter. Despite her confidence in her own willpower and strength, that laughter gave Kathleen pause. That was the voice of experience responding. Two voices, in fact.
“Maybe I’d better get your phone numbers, just in case,” she said as they walked toward the dining room where the other guests had now assembled.
In the doorway, Destiny gave them all a sharp look, then beamed at Kathleen. “Come, dear, I’ve seated you next to Ben.”
Of course she had, Kathleen thought, fighting a renewed surge of panic. She avoided glancing at Melanie or Beth, afraid of the justifiable amusement she’d likely find in their eyes now. Instead she cast a look in Ben’s direction, wondering what he thought of his aunt’s blatant machinations. He had to find them as disquieting as she did.
Oddly enough, she thought he looked surprisingly relaxed. Maybe he was confident of his own ability to resist whatever trap Destiny was setting. Or maybe he hadn’t figured out what she was up to. Doubtful, though, if he’d watched his brothers get snared one by one.
Kathleen took a closer look. He was every bit as handsome as she’d expected after seeing his brothers’ pictures in the gossip columns of the local papers. There was no mistaking the fact that he was an artist, though. There were paint daubs in a variety of colors on his old jeans, a streak of vermilion on his cheek. Kathleen couldn’t help feeling a faint flicker of admiration for a man who could be so totally unselfconscious showing up at his own dinner party at less than his best.
What a contrast that was to her own insecurities. She’d spent her entire life trying to put her best foot forward, trying to impress, trying to overcome an upbringing that had been financially privileged but beyond that had had very little to redeem it. She’d spent a lifetime hiding secrets and shame, acceding to her mother’s pleas not to rock the family boat. Art had brought beauty into her life, and she admired and respected those who could create it.
As she stepped into the dining room, her gaze shifted from Ben to the magnificent painting above the mantel. At the sight of it, she came to a sudden stop. All thoughts of Ben Carlton, Destiny’s scheming and her own past flew out of her head. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
The artist had captured the fall scene with both a brilliant use of color and a delicate touch that made it seem almost dreamlike, the way it might look in the mind’s eye when remembered weeks or months later, too perfect to be real. There was a lone deer at the edge of a brook, traces of snow on the ground with leaves of gold, red and burnished bronze falling along with the last faint snowflakes. The deer was staring straight out of the painting, as if looking directly at the artist, but its keen eyes were serene and unafraid. Kathleen imagined it had been exactly like that when the artist had come upon the scene, then made himself a part of it in a way that protected and preserved the moment.
Destiny caught her rapt gaze. “One of Ben’s. He hated it when I insisted he hang it in here where his guests could enjoy it.”
“But it’s spectacular,” Kathleen said, dismayed that it might have been hidden away if not for Destiny’s insistence. Work this amazing did belong in a gallery. “I feel as if I looked out a window and saw exactly that scene.”
Destiny smiled, her expression smug. “I just knew you would react that way. Tell my nephew that, please. He might actually believe it if it comes from you. He dismisses whatever I say. He’s convinced I’m biased about his talent.”
Excitement rippled through Kathleen. Destiny hadn’t been exaggerating about her nephew’s extraordinary gift. “There are more like this?” she asked, knowing the answer but hardly daring to hope that this was the rule, rather than the exception.
“His studio is packed to the rafters,” Destiny revealed. “He’s given a few to family and friends when we’ve begged, but for the most part, this is something he does strictly for himself.”
“I could make him rich,” Kathleen said with certainty, eager to fight to do just that. She was well-known for overcoming objections, for persuading tightfisted people to part with their money, and difficult artists to agree to showings in her small but prestigious gallery. All of Destiny’s scheming meant nothing now. All that mattered was the art.
Destiny squeezed her hand. “Ben is rich. You’ll have to find some other lure, if you hope to do a showing.”
“Fame?” What painter didn’t secretly yearn to be this generation’s Renoir or Picasso? Disclaimers aside, surely Ben had an artist’s ego.
Destiny shook her head. “He thinks Richard and Mack have all the limelight that the Carlton family needs.”
Frustration burned inside Kathleen. What else could she come up with that might appeal to a reclusive artist who had no need for money or fame?
She drew her gaze from the incredible painting and turned to the woman who knew Ben best. “Any ideas?” she asked Destiny.
The older woman patted her hand and gave her a serene, knowing look. “I’m sure you’ll think of something if you put your mind to it.”
Even though she’d suspected the plot all along, even though Melanie and Beth had all but confirmed it, Kathleen was taken aback by the determined glint in Destiny’s eyes. In Destiny’s mind the art and the man were intertwined. Any desire for one was bound to tie Kathleen to the other. It was a diabolical scheme.
Kathleen looked from the painting to Ben Carlton. She would gladly sell her soul to the devil for a chance to represent such incredible art. But if she was understanding Destiny’s sly hint correctly, it wasn’t her soul she was expected to sell.
One more glance at Ben, one more little frisson of awareness and she couldn’t help thinking it might not be such a bad bargain.
Ben watched warily as his aunt guided Kathleen into the dining room. He saw the way the younger woman came to a sudden halt when she saw his painting, and despite his claim that he painted only for himself, his breath snagged in his throat as he tried to gauge her reaction. She seemed impressed, but without being able to hear what she said, he couldn’t be sure. It irked him that he cared.
“You’re amazingly talented,” Kathleen said the instant she’d taken her seat beside him.
Relief washed over him. Because that annoyed him, too, he merely shrugged. “Thanks. That’s Destiny’s favorite.”
“She has a good eye.”
“Have you ever seen her work?”
“A few pieces,” Kathleen said. “She won’t let me sell them for her, though.” She met his gaze. “Modesty must run in the family.”
“I’m not modest,” Ben assured her. “I’m just not interested in turning this into a career.”
“Why not?”
His gaze challenged her. “Why should I? I don’t need the money.”
“Critical acclaim?”
“Not interested.”
“Really?” she asked skeptically. “Or are you afraid your work won’t measure up?”
He frowned at that. “Measure up to what? Some other artist’s? Some artificial standard for technique or style or commercial success?”
“All of that,” she said at once.
“None of it matters to me.”
“Then why do you paint?”
“Because I enjoy it.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “And that’s enough?”
He grinned at her astonishment. “Isn’t there anything you do, Ms. Dugan, just for the fun of it?”
“Of course,” she said heatedly. “But you’re wasting your talent, hiding it away from others who could take pleasure in seeing it or owning it.”
He was astounded by the assessment. “You think I’m being selfish?”
“Absolutely.”
Ben looked into her flashing violet eyes, and for an instant he lost his train of thought, lost his desire to argue with her. If they’d been alone, he might have been tempted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot all about this silly debate over whether art was important if it wasn’t on dis
play for the masses.
“What are you passionate about?” he asked instead, clearly startling her.
“Art,” she said at once.
“Nothing else?”
She flushed at the question. “Not really.”
“Too bad. Don’t you think that’s taking a rather limited view of the world?”
“That from a man who’s known far and wide as a recluse?” she retorted wryly.
Ben chuckled. “But a passionate recluse,” he told her. “I love nature. I care about my family. I feel strongly about what I paint.” He shot a look toward Richard. “I’m even starting to care just a little about politics.” He turned toward Mack. “Not so much about football, though.”
“Only because you could never catch a pass if your life had depended on it,” Mack retorted amiably. He grinned at Kathleen. “He was afraid of breaking his fingers and not being able to hold a paint brush again.”
“Then, even as a boy you loved painting?” Kathleen said. “It’s always mattered to you?”
“It’s what I enjoy doing,” Ben confirmed. “It’s not who I am.”
“No ambition at all?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. None. Richard and Mack have more than enough for one family.”
Kathleen set down her fork and regarded him with consternation. “How do you define yourself, if not as an artist?”
“A reclusive artist,” Ben corrected, quoting the usual media description. “Why do I need to pin a label on myself?”
She seemed taken aback by that. “I don’t suppose you do.”
“How do you define who you are?” he asked.
“I own an art gallery. A very prestigious art gallery, in fact,” she said with pride.
Ben studied her intently. He wondered if she had any idea how telling it was that she saw herself only in terms of what she did, not as a woman with any sort of hopes and dreams. A part of him wanted to unravel that particular puzzle and discover what had made her choose ambition over any sort of personal connection.
Because right here and now, surrounded by people absorbed in their own conversations, it was safe enough to ask, he gazed into her amazing eyes. “No man in your life?”
A shadow flitted across her face. “None.”
“Why is that?”
Eyes flashing, she met his gaze. “Is there a woman in yours?”
Ben laughed. “Touché.”
“Which isn’t an answer, is it?”
“No, there is no woman in my life,” he said, waiting for the twinge of guilt that usually accompanied that admission.
“Why not?” she asked, proving she was better at the game than he was.
“Because the only one who ever mattered died,” he said quietly.
Sympathy immediately filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I’m surprised Destiny didn’t fill you in,” he said, glancing in his aunt’s direction. Though Destiny was engaged in conversation with Richard, it was obvious she was keeping one ear attuned to what was going on between him and Kathleen. She gave him a quizzical look.
“Nothing,” Ben said for her benefit. He almost regretted letting the conversation veer away from the safe topic of art. But since Kathleen had sidestepped his question as neatly as he’d initially avoided hers, he went back to it. “Why is there no special man in your life?”
“I was married once. It didn’t work out.”
There was a story there. He could see it in her face, hear it in the sudden tension in her voice. “Was it so awful you decided never to try it again?”
“Worse,” she said succinctly. She met his gaze. “We were doing better when we were sticking to art.”
Ben laughed. “Yes, we were, weren’t we? I was just thinking the same thing, though I imagine there are those who think all the small talk is just avoidance.”
“Avoidance?”
“Two people dancing around what really matters.”
Kathleen flushed. “I’m perfectly willing to avoid delving into my personal life. How about you?”
“Suits me,” he said easily, though a part of him was filled with regret. “Want to debate about the talent of the Impressionists versus the Modernists?”
She frowned. “Not especially.”
“Know anything about politics?”
“Not much.”
“Environmental issues?”
“I think global warming is a real risk,” she said at once.
“Good for you. Anything else?”
She held up a forkful of turkey. “The food’s delicious.”
“I was thinking more in terms of another environmental issue,” he teased.
“Sorry. You’re fresh out of luck. I could argue the merits of free-range turkey over the frozen kind,” she suggested cheerfully. “Everyone says free-range is healthier, but they’re just as dead, so how healthy is that?”
Ben chuckled. “Now there’s a hot-button topic, if ever I heard one.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” she said. “I told you I have a one-track mind.”
“And it’s totally focused on art,” Ben said. “I think I get that.” He studied her thoughtfully. “This man you were married to, was he an artist?”
She stiffened visibly. “As a matter of fact, he was.”
Ben should have taken comfort in that. If an artist had hurt Kathleen so badly that she wasn’t the least bit interested in marriage, then he should be safe enough from all of Destiny’s clever machinations. She’d miscalculated this time. Oddly, though, he didn’t feel nearly as relieved as he should. In fact, he felt a powerful urge to go find this man who’d hurt Kathleen and wring his neck.
“People get over bad marriages and move on,” he told her quietly.
“Have you gotten over losing the woman you loved?”
“No, but it’s different.”
“Different how?”
Ben hesitated. They were about to enter into an area he never discussed, not with anyone. Somehow, though, he felt compelled to tell Kathleen the truth. “I blame myself for her death,” he said.
Kathleen looked momentarily startled by the admission. “Did you cause her death?”
He smiled sadly at the sudden hint of caution in her voice. “Not the way you mean, no, but I was responsible just the same.”
“How?”
“We argued. She was drunk and I let her leave. She ran her car into a tree and died.” He recited the bare facts without emotion, watching Kathleen’s face. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look shocked or horrified. Rather she looked indignant.
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” she said fiercely. “She was an adult. She should have known better than to get behind the wheel when she was upset and drunk.”
“People who are drunk are not known for their logic. I could have stopped her. I should have,” Ben countered as he had to every other person who’d tried to let him off the hook.
“Really? How? By taking away the car keys?”
“That would have done it,” he said bleakly, thinking how simple it would have been to prevent the tragedy that had shaped the last three years of his adult life.
“Or she would have waited a bit, then found your keys and taken your car,” Kathleen countered.
“It might have slowed her down, though, given her time to think.”
“As you said yourself, it doesn’t sound to me as if she was thinking all that rationally.”
Ben sighed. No, Graciela hadn’t been thinking rationally, but neither had he. He’d known her state of mind was irrational that night, that she was feeling defensive and cornered at having been caught with her lover. He’d told her to get out anyway. Not only hadn’t he taken those car keys from her, he’d all but tossed her out the door and put her behind the wheel.
“It hardly matters now,” he said at last. “I can’t change that night.”
Kathleen looked directly into his eyes. “No,” she said softly. “You can’t. The only thing you can do—t
he thing you must do—is put it behind you.”
Ben wanted desperately to accept that, to let go of the past as his entire family had urged him to do, but blaming himself was too ingrained. Absolution from a woman he’d known a few hours counted for nothing.
He forced his gaze away from Kathleen and saw Destiny and his brothers watching him intently, as if they’d sensed or even heard what Ben and Kathleen had been discussing and were awaiting either an explosion or a sudden epiphany. He gave them neither.
Instead, he lifted his glass of water. “To good company and wonderful food. Thanks, Destiny.”
“To Destiny,” the others echoed.
Destiny beamed at him, evidently satisfied that things were working out exactly as she’d intended. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.”
Ben drank to her toast, but even as he wished everyone a wonderful Thanksgiving, he couldn’t help wondering when this dark, empty hole inside him would go away and he’d truly be able to count his blessings again. He gazed at Kathleen and thought he saw shadows in her eyes, as well, and guessed she was feeling much the same way.
He knew Destiny wanted something to come from this meeting today, but it wasn’t in the cards. Whatever the whole story, Kathleen Dugan’s soul was as shattered as his own.
Chapter Three
Kathleen waited impatiently through several courses of excellent food. She nibbled on pecan pie, then lingered over two cups of rich, dark coffee, hoping for an invitation to Ben’s studio to go through the works that were stashed there. She desperately wanted to see for herself if the painting in the dining room was the exception or the rule.
Then again, it might be sheer torment, especially if each and every painting was extraordinary and Ben still flatly refused to allow her to show them.
When the meal finally ended and people started making their excuses and leaving, she lingered at the table with the family. She debated simply asking for a tour of the studio, but Ben’s forbidding expression stopped her. Not even Destiny seemed inclined to broach the very subject that she claimed had been her reason for asking Kathleen to dinner. It was as if she, too, had read her nephew’s mood and determined that he wouldn’t be receptive.
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