Almost Perfect

by Julie Ortolon

  "Maddy must be thrilled with the turnout," his mother said. "And nervous as all get-out."

  "No doubt." Although Maddy wasn't the only one who was nervous. He'd managed step one in the first phase of his plan. Tonight he hoped to take another step toward getting things back to where they had been.

  Finally, the line of cars moved forward. He maneuvered into a handicapped space near the front door, then turned to his mother. "Now this time wait for me to open your door, okay?"

  "Don't be silly." She wrestled with the handle, her frail hands shaking. "I can manage."

  "I mean it," he ordered in exasperation. The stubborn woman never let him do anything for her without a battle. A less secure man would be positively emasculated in her presence, without her even realizing she was insulting him. *

  True to form, she made a face, but folded her hands as a sign of resignation. Satisfied, he stepped out of the car into the cool evening air. The voices of other gallerygoers and the sound of car doors slamming contrasted sharply with the quiet of the desert evening. Overhead, the twilight gathered as he opened the passenger door.

  "Now see," he said. "That didn't hurt at all."

  "Not at all," she agreed, with a smile that didn't mean a thing. Next time would be no different. He accepted that with the same patience that let him watch her struggle out of the passenger seat on her own. Her cane tangled with her legs, but she made it without tripping.

  "All right." She straightened the Oriental silk jacket she wore with black leisure slacks and orthopedic shoes. "Let's go hobnob."

  Joe hid a smile as they made their way across the parking lot. His mother couldn't be an art snob if she tried. She liked it all-from finger paintings by the campers to the works in his collection. The moment he opened the door the noise from inside washed over him.

  "Joe." Sylvia stood ready to greet guests. "So glad you came."

  "I wouldn't have missed it." He scanned the crowd for Maddy, but didn't see her. "I don't believe you've met my mother."

  "No, I haven't." Sylvia extended a hand laden with turquoise and silver rings. "Your son has excellent taste in art… and artists, since he brought us Madeline. What a treasure! Everyone loves her work."

  "Of course they do," Mama replied. "Madeline has always been very special."

  "I won't argue with that." Sylvia motioned toward the framing table, which had been converted into a buffet. A good-size crowd gathered around it, filling plates with finger food and accepting glasses of wine from the server at the far end. "Why don't you two grab some refreshments and have a look around?"

  "Thanks." Joe motioned for his mother to precede him and started to follow just as Maddy came into view.

  She was talking to an older couple as she moved across the back of the crowded gallery. His focus narrowed, dimming everything but her as he tracked her progress, seeing her in snatches through the crowd. Her bright hair was set off by a cropped jacket done in rich, earthy shades, hand-painted with stylized Indian ponies and dripping with leather fringe.

  The crowd parted, granting him a brief glimpse of the copper-colored dress beneath the jacket. It flowed from a scooped neckline with buttons down the front, past her nipped-in waist, over nicely flared hips, then down her legs nearly to her ankles. A pair of sexy sandals with three-inch heels completed the outfit.

  The sound of her laughter brought his gaze back up the length of her.

  His chest tightened.

  This was Maddy as he'd always pictured her. The bright, shining center of the art world. Both pride and doubt stirred within him. Pride that she was fulfilling her destiny, and doubt over whether that destiny included him.

  "There she goes again," someone sighed in exasperation.

  "Hmm, what?" Joe turned to find Juanita standing beside him with her hands on her hips.

  "Madeline." The gallery manager motioned in frustration. "She keeps steering customers away from her own work to introduce them to the other artists. I admit, I love the fact that she's closed deals on four originals this evening, but I wish they'd been her originals. She's supposed to be our new star, not fill-in help for the sales staff."

  Joe's gaze swung back to Maddy, watching as she pointed to various pieces on the wall, motioning with her hands as she talked. She was doing exactly what Juanita said: selling a painting by another artist.

  "She's good, though." Juanita nodded. "You gotta give her that. She's really good."

  "And completely exasperating." He started forward, pausing briefly to check on his mother at the food table. Then he marched over to Maddy, who was expounding on the painting before her.

  "Hello, Maddy."

  Maddy whirled around to find Joe standing directly behind her. She'd known he'd arrived-she'd caught a glimpse of him and her heart had done several somersaults-but she hadn't expected him to come straight over to her. Things were better between them, but not that much better.

  "Joe. I'm so glad you made it."

  "Yeah, me too." He turned to the older couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Colton, how are you this evening?"

  "Fine. Just fine," Mr. Colton replied. "How's that granddaughter of ours liking summer camp?"

  "She's having a blast. Now, if you'll excuse us"- Joe slipped his arms about her waist-"I need to talk to Madeline."

  He eased her away from the Coltons, drawing her as skillfully as a dancer through the crowd. His touch made her light-headed enough that she didn't question what was happening.

  As they moved, he scanned the exhibit until his gaze landed on the alcove that held her work. He headed that way with her tucked into the warmth of his side, his hand on her rib cage beneath her jacket. When they reached the area, he stopped before Sunrise Canyon, maneuvered her right in front of it with both hands on her hips, then stepped back.

  "There." He nodded. "Much better."

  "What?" She frowned at the loss of his arm around her. Then her mind cleared and she plopped her hands on her hips. "What was that about?"

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice as several patrons passed by. "It's about you."

  "Me?"

  He turned to a young couple admiring one of her pieces. "Fabulous work, isn't it? Have you met the artist? This is Madeline."

  She went instantly into sales mode, trying to remove herself from the fact that she was praising her own work. The moment the couple seemed absorbed enough to need privacy, she stepped back, drawing Joe with her. "What are you doing? I was about to close a sale over there."

  "You're supposed to be selling your own work. Or at least talking it up to the local gallery own-ers." He looked around. "Who have turned out in droves."

  "Don't remind me." She pressed a hand to her belly.

  He studied her closely, his expression unreadable. "Why don't I get you a glass of wine?"

  "I thought that was against camp rules, even when we're off duty.-"

  "Sometimes I have this overwhelming need to break a rule or two just to prove to myself I'm still me."

  "Okay then." She let her breath out in an audible rush. "Wine does sound pretty good right now."

  "Then you stay." He held a hand up, palm out. "Stay."

  "I'm not a dog." She laughed.

  "I mean it. Stay."

  She smiled and patted her heart as she watched him go. Oh my. As if she didn't have enough going on to make her pulse jump, he looked insanely handsome tonight in black slacks, a dark purple shirt, and a silver bolo tie. The color of the shirt made his skin look darker, his hair blacker, his eyes a deeper brown.

  He was every inch the modern-day equivalent of an Indian warrior. Heat rushed through her at the thought that he might be back in her bed soon. Where things went from there… Well, she'd just have to wait and see.

  Chapter 16

  With all the people milling around the catering table, getting drinks took longer than Joe expected. He exchanged a few words with art collectors he'd met at other shows, then bumped into another couple who had children at the camp. The latter presented a mi
nor problem. He didn't know if they knew about the no-drinking rule, but he wasn't about to take any chances.

  He waited until they'd moved on, located the Coltons talking to his mother with their backs to him, and slid two soft drink cups to the bartender.

  At last, he had two cups of white wine in hand and was making his way back toward Maddy. If all went well this evening, they'd move from simply speaking to really talking.

  His stomach tightened at the thought, though. Why did relationships require so much talking? Women were supposed to be intuitive. Couldn't they figure out what was going on inside a guy without him having to say it out loud?

  Although some guys, like Derrick, didn't seem to have a problem verbalizing, even when it came to really personal stuff. Maybe he could start with something impersonal, keeping it light and friendly. Then later, before leaving, he'd ask if he could come to the Craft Shack after the show so they could talk, since the middle of a crowded gallery was not the place for a serious conversation.

  From several feet away, he saw Maddy listening to a tall, willowy woman who seemed to be admiring one of her pieces. Good, he and Maddy would have a buffer to get them through the next few minutes. As he drew closer, though, he noticed two things. The woman didn't look like a collector. She looked like an artist dressed in kitschy Goth attire, and Maddy's eyes were frantic.

  He quickened his pace, coming up on them just as the woman turned and walked away. He looked from the retreating back to Maddy, who stood frozen and pale.

  "Okay," he said, "mind telling me what that was about?"

  She closed her eyes for a full three seconds, then opened them. "Nothing."

  "Then why are you upset?"

  "I'm not. Is that for me?" She took one of the cups from him and smiled at an approaching couple. When the couple moved past, she downed half her wine in two big gulps.

  "Give me that." He snagged the cup.

  "Hey!" She scowled at him as she wiped a drop from her chin.

  He held the cup away. "Tell me what upset you."

  She scanned the crowded area and spoke through stiff lips. "This isn't the place to discuss it."

  He narrowed his eyes in irritation. No matter how carefully he planned things out, Maddy always threw in a monkey wrench. "Fine." He set both cups down on a pedestal, at the feet of a bronze bear, took her hand, and started walking. The deal with plans, though, is they had to stay fluid.

  "Joe." She gasped, but resisted for only a second.

  He spotted the door to the back room and headed in that direction.

  "Juanita," he said as they passed the showroom manager. "Can you cover Maddy's area for a while?"

  "Uh, certainly." She frowned at him.

  Without a qualm, he went right through the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and closed it behind him. A quick glance around revealed a dark, cavernous space filled with the scent of wood glue and sawdust. Faint light from outside spilled through barred windows, casting striped shadows onto worktables and equipment.

  "Jo-oe." Maddy jerked her hand out of his grasp, drawing his attention back to her. Scowling up at him, she rubbed her hand. "You've got to stop hauling me around."

  "Did I hurt you?" He frowned at the thought.

  "No." She dropped her hand to her hips. "But that's twice tonight you've done it. Next time you want me to move from point A to point B, do you think you could ask?"

  "I could. But since you'd probably argue, my way's quicker."

  "Well, silly me for thinking the human race had progressed past the caveman stage." She tossed her head in indignation, her eyes shining in the dim light. "I guess I'm lucky you don't knock me over my head and haul me about by my hair."

  A smile spread over his face. "God, you look good tonight."

  "What?" That drew her up short for a second. "Oh. Thank you. But I repeat, next time ask?'

  "Check. Now"-he settled the small of his back against one of the tables-"tell me what the bitch in black said to upset you."

  "She's not a bitch." Maddy sighed, suddenly deflated. "She's just… understandably irritated."

  "About…?"

  "We've been over this. I've barely arrived in Santa Fe and I'm already in a big show, everybody's raving about my work, and I'm going to have prints in an art catalog."

  "So, she's jealous." He nodded. "Got that. Now, what'd she say?"

  "She has a right to be jealous. It doesn't seem fair that she's been here for two years, working hard to get a break. She has some pieces in a small gallery, but she'd clearly give her eyeteeth to be featured in a show of this magnitude. What right do I have to swoop into town and steal her dream?"

  "You're not stealing anyone's dream." Going with impulse, he reached out and took her hand as a compromise to pulling her to him for a hug. Even that small contact felt good, though. A warm intertwining of fingers. "Just because one artist makes it big doesn't mean another one can't. Although maybe she doesn't have what it takes and you do. Have you stopped to consider that?"

  "It still doesn't seem fair."

  "God." He chuckled. "You're such a woman."

  Fire snapped into her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean!"

  "It wasn't an insult." He swallowed his amuse-merit. "Women always want everyone to win so no one gets their feelings hurt. Well, sorry, life doesn't work that way. It's like Ranger school. My class started out with nearly four hundred guys, all of whom thought they wanted it-until they found out how tough it was going to be. About half of them washed out the first day, it's that hard. Less than one hundred made it all the way to the end, because desire alone isn't enough. You have to have ability and conviction. That's why making the Rangers was one of the biggest highs of my life."

  "But that's my point. You had to work to earn it. What did I do to earn this?"

  He studied her, realizing she was serious. "Those pieces of art out there didn't create themselves."

  She shrugged. "Well, no, but-"

  "No buts. You've spent years developing a God-given talent, and you've spent the last few weeks working your tail off to produce enough work for this show. So, it's not like life just handed this to you. You earned it."

  "I guess. I still feel bad for her."

  "The bitch?"

  "She's not a bitch."

  "Tell me what she said, and I'll decide."

  "It's not important."

  "Mad-dy…" He lifted an eyebrow in warning.

  "Oh, all right. She said, 'Yes, well, you do have a very… colorful style. I can see why Sylvia wants to do prints. They should be very popular with decorators' Can you believe that?" The indignation he'd been looking for broke free. "She called my work decorator art! An artist never says something like that to another artist. Well, unless the other artist is actually trying to produce decorator art- which is okay. There's nothing wrong with mass production to make a living, but in a situation like this, it's the ultimate insult. She's saying my work doesn't belong in a gallery. It belongs hanging over hotel beds, chosen solely on the merit of the colors matching the draperies."

  "Yep." Joe nodded. "She's a bitch."

  "She is not! She's just frustrated. But that doesn't make her a bitch."

  "No, but she said something specifically designed to hurt you, and that makes her a bitch. Now admit it. Say 'she's a bitch.' "

  Maddy hedged. "She could be a nice person."

  "Say it. B-I-T-C-H. Bitch."

  She clamped her mouth shut with her lips tucked between her teeth.

  He straightened to his full height, towering over her. "Am I going to have to tickle it out of you?"

  "Ah!" She jumped back with hands raised to ward him off. "Don't you dare!"

  "Then say it." He took a threatening step forward.

  She dashed around to the far side of the* table, where she stopped to face him. "I won't."

  "Now this is interesting." Something primal sparked inside him at the thought of chasing her. "You do realize you can't possibly escape if I decide to catch you."

>   She raised her stubborn chin. "Wanna bet?"

  "Is that a challenge?" He raised a brow as arousal stirred.

  She looked left, then right. He waited for her to pick her direction. "Maddy"-he dropped his voice purely for effect-"I'm bigger than you. I'm faster than you. I promise, I will catch you."

  An answering excitement lit her eyes an instant before she feinted left, then took off to the right.

  He moved to block her path to the door. She whirled with a laugh and headed the other way. He followed, methodically letting her elude him while corralling her steadily toward the darker shadows in the back.

  He soon had her trapped in a corner with another table between them. They stood facing each other, their hands on the table, her breathing labored. His heart pounded in response.

  "Ready to give up?" he asked, knowing that would egg her on.

  "You don't have me yet." Her eyes shifted back and forth, but he already knew her pattern. She feinted every time, alternating the direction. This time it would be right then left. He waited for her to break. The second she did, he vaulted over the table and landed behind her just as she turned and collided with his chest.

  "Gotcha!" His arms closed about her as she shrieked. Another quick move, and he had her wrists pinned to the small of her back. "Give?"

  "Never." Her chin came up, her face flushed and glowing. Amusement faded as awareness grew, awareness of her body trapped against his, her heart beating against his chest. Her breath fanned over his chin as her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted back to his eyes.

  Unable to resist, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. Possessiveness filled him as he took her mouth, claiming her as his own. His catch. His mate. He tilted his head, telling her with a kiss the things he wanted to voice, You're mine, Maddy, mine. Forever. With a moan, she arched into him until her soft belly cupped his arousal. The thought of taking her there in the darkness, against the table, filled his head. He tried to shake it, knowing it was ludicrous-they had a gallery full of people a short distance away, and unresolved issues to settle-but the idea took hold and grew.