by Debra Holt
“That’s important?”
“He usually doesn’t smile a lot, but he didn’t hesitate with you. Be careful, or I might get jealous,” J.D. said with a grin, before he disappeared into his bedroom.
Chapter Eleven
The sign on the door indicated the elegant art gallery set in an alcove off the famous River Walk was closed, yet as they approached, the door opened and a perfectly groomed older gentleman issued a welcoming smile and bade them enter. He had evidently been waiting for their pre-arranged arrival.
Amanda was glad she had changed from her travel outfit into a navy, waist-length jacket over a cream silk blouse and light wool, cream slacks. Her ankle boots and shoulder bag in soft, black leather were splurges she had made on herself last year after she had closed a nice deal on a couple of commercial lots. She stepped into the gallery and was treated as a VIP guest, given the man beside her. It was nice to see that no matter who J.D. spoke with, from the owner of the gallery to the bellman at the hotel, he was always the same, always himself… no pretentiousness. He gave them his smile and spoke to them instead of ignoring their presence. He made certain to thank them for whatever service they performed for him. That secretly pleased her.
“Please take your time and enjoy the items we have on display,” the gallery owner said. “If I can answer any questions for you, or be of any service, please call upon me. I will give you both some time to examine our collections.” It was clear he was not going to hover over them, and she was glad of that.
J.D. thanked the man for the courtesy and then fell into step beside Amanda as they slowly made their way past some of the most stunning artwork she had ever seen. These were all originals, no prints to be seen. Occasionally, J.D. would stop and examine one more closely than the others. He would raise a brow in her direction, and she would either nod her head in agreement or shake her head. If she shook her head, he would dismiss the painting and move on without a word. She felt the need to speak up after he had done this a few times.
“J.D., these paintings are going into your home. Please don’t let my personal tastes influence your decisions. I’m sure there are paintings that you will like that I may not. I don’t want you to pass on something just because I don’t particularly like it. Perhaps I should just wait with the gallery owner, and you continue on your own,” Amanda said, coming to a halt in the aisle.
He turned toward her, his hands stuffed in his pants’ pockets, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I value your opinion Amanda. So far, our tastes have been the same. If I do see something that we disagree on, I promise you that I’ll make my decision based on what I want. Okay?”
“Okay,” she relented, falling into step once more beside him. At the end of almost three-quarters of an hour shopping, they had settled on two large landscape paintings and a couple of smaller, oval ones of wildflowers for one of the guest bedrooms.
Seated once again inside the SUV, Amanda assumed they were returning to the hotel. She was wrong. They headed away from the downtown area and their hotel. She sent a questioning glance in her companion’s direction.
“I liked the artist’s work on the two landscapes we purchased. When I mentioned that to the gallery owner, he told me the artist lives just on the outskirts of the city. I thought we could stop by and have a word with him. Then we’ll grab some dinner. Sound like a plan?”
“I’d like to meet him. He has great talent. I first thought I was looking at a photograph, his clarity was so incredible in his paintings.”
“Carlton told me he’s very young also, and we will be surprised when we meet him. Not sure what he means by that, but we’ll soon find out.”
They were in for quite a surprise as it turned out. Alex followed the directions given by the gallery, and after turning off the main highway on the southern outskirts of San Antonio, they found themselves moving slowly along a badly rutted, dirt road. Around the second bend in the road, they could go no further. The road emptied into a gravel driveway beside a small, wood-framed house, painted a bright turquoise… or at least it had been once a long time ago. The weather and elements had the wood peeling and cracked, and it definitely needed some repair. Rocks outlined meager little flowerbeds where pink, purple, and white vinca, along with moss roses, had been planted in the dry soil in warmer days and struggled to survive in the onslaught of a warmer–than-normal Texas winter.
Alex brought the vehicle to a halt but did not kill the engine. “Are we certain this is the location?”
“That’s the card I was handed,” J.D. replied, his eyes taking in the quiet house.
“Best let me check it out first,” Alex spoke up, and with a crack of the driver’s side door, the quiet was no more.
A burst of furious yips and yaps filled the air, and four small bodies launched themselves from the side of the house toward the offending vehicle. Alex shut his door and remained in his seat and lowered his window instead. The screen door of the house creaked open, and a young man clad in jeans, plaid shirt, and old work boots stepped outside.
He clapped his hands and shouted at the furry torpedoes. “Hush up! Silencio!” Amazingly, they stopped in their tracks, and the noise stilled. They kept their bright eyes trained on the interlopers, though. The young man stepped past them and came to stand a couple of feet from the SUV.
“Sorry about that. My mother’s dogs think they are Dobermans instead of mixed-breed Chihuahuas. They’re harmless. Are you lost?” The Hispanic youth looked to be no more than fifteen or sixteen, with a wiry body and warm brown eyes that held an open welcome in them.
“We’re looking for the studio of Arturo Galvan,” Alex replied. “Do you know of him?”
“I do know him quite well. He is I… or I am him… whichever you prefer. My studio, such as it is, is behind this house. How may I help you?”
J.D. recovered from the surprise of the boy’s identity faster than either Amanda or Alex. He opened his door and exited. He offered his hand to the young man. The young man’s eyes widened quite a bit as he slowly responded to the handshake.
“I’m J.D. Sterling, and I was given your name by Mr. Duran at the gallery. Perhaps we should have called first, but I was excited to meet the person who had painted such beautiful work. I wanted to discuss something with you… if you have the time?”
Amanda could well imagine, gauging by the still surprised look on the young man’s face that this was the last thing the young man thought he would be doing on this day… standing in his front yard, shaking hands with a country music superstar. That much was evident on his face. She slid along the seat and exited the same time as Alex left the front seat. J.D. made the introductions.
“I am overwhelmed.” The young man spoke as he shook each of their hands in turn. “I thank you for your kind words about my work.”
“Arturo, mama wants to know…” The young girl who emerged from the house to stand on the porch was evidently related to the artist… they could have been twins. She halted on the top step when she recognized the man standing next to her brother. With eyes wide, she stood with her mouth slightly agape.
“May I present my sister, Florencia. She seems to have lost her voice for the moment.” He recited everyone’s names for her benefit again. That gave her time to come back to reality. Her brother drew her forward with an arm around her small shoulders.
“Hello, Florencia, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” J.D. smiled at the young girl, and Amanda thought for a moment she would actually see the young woman faint dead away at their feet. It was lucky for the girl that her brother had kept his arm around her. She mumbled something that sounded like a greeting in response, and the smile was tremulous on her face. Her eyes never left J.D.as if he were an apparition that would disappear at any moment. Amanda stifled a grin. She knew a little of what the girl was experiencing in seeing the awesome power of J.D. Sterling, up close and personal. She had been that young girl once herself. Only he hadn’t been Mr. Country Music back then… only the poor boy who ha
d held her heart.
“Florencia… that is a beautiful name,” Amanda spoke up, taking the girl’s hand in her own. That brought the girl’s attention to her briefly and allowed her thought process to regain itself.
“Thank you, but everyone calls me Flor.”
“Do we have guests? Where are the manners of my children? Why are they standing in our yard and not being welcomed inside?” That voice brought all their attention to focus on the short, plump woman who next appeared on the porch. Her black hair with only a few strands of silver was caught to the back of her head in a tight bun. Her eyes were warm with welcome, and her features matched her children’s. She was dressed in a colorful housedress of bright blues and fuchsias.
“Where are my manners? Please forgive me. Allow me to introduce to you our mother, Guadalupe Duran.”
If the woman recognized the identity of her famous visitor, she gave no indication. She treated each of them to a broad smile and welcomed them toward the doorway of her home with a sweep of her arm.
The men removed their hats as they entered the small living room. Immediately, they were offered seats on one of the two couches, and the woman instructed her daughter to fetch them something to drink. There was a delicious smell of something emanating from the small kitchen area that was visible around a corner from the living room.
Amanda was pleased to note J.D. settled himself into his new surroundings and accepted the offer of a cup of coffee from their hostess. Alex did the same, and she followed suit with a request for a glass of ice water.
Before long, Guadalupe Duran was regaling them all with the history of her son’s artistic endeavors from grade school until the present, much to his embarrassment.
Amanda noted almost every space available on the walls and on the top of the upright piano in the corner of the room held photos of her children and other relatives. Crocheted afghans in bright colors draped along the back of the floral couches and the oversized recliner that sat across the room, closest to the large-screen television. In a lighted cabinet next to the front door were numerous trophies and blue ribbons. Upon closer inspection, Amanda noted two-thirds of them had Arturo’s name on them, and the others had his sister’s.
“Do you paint also, Flor?” Amanda ventured the question as the young girl handed her the glass of water.
“Oh no, ma’am. I play the violin a bit.”
“A bit? She is much too shy about her accomplishments.” Arturo spoke up at that point, a beaming smile of pride pointed in his sister’s direction.
“Si!” Their mother joined in, seating herself on the edge of her recliner. “Florencia is self-taught. She began playing when she was just three years old. She has a gift for it according to the violin teacher she visits twice a week now.”
“Are you interested in a musical career?” J.D. asked, and the girl’s cheeks colored more, her voice just above a whisper as she replied.
“I would like to play with a symphony perhaps. But I would be happy to just be a violin teacher and help others learn.”
“You must be very proud of both of your talented children, and it’s your son’s talent that brought me here today. Please forgive the fact that we didn’t call ahead for an appointment. I just assumed that we would be coming to a studio and not a private home. If you could allow me a few minutes with your son to discuss a possible commissioned painting, we’ll then be on our way and not take up any more of your time,” J.D. spoke, leaning forward from the edge of the couch he had seated himself on, next to Amanda.
“Of course. Arturo does have a small studio he built for himself behind the house. Perhaps you would both prefer to speak there, and I shall be happy to visit with Miss Lawson and Mr. Danvers. But only if you do us the honor of staying afterward and dining with us. It’s a simple meal I am preparing... enchiladas, Mexican rice, flour tortillas… nothing fancy.”
“We couldn’t intrude,” Amanda responded for the trio.
“By any chance would those be homemade flour tortillas?” J.D. asked, then at almost the same time as Alex voiced his own question along the same line.
Amanda looked at both of them.
“Everything I place on my table is from scratch,” the woman replied, with a large smile lighting her eyes. “Flor, please place three more plates on the table for our guests.”
Amanda had to admit the day had certainly ended much differently than she could have envisioned. J.D. and Arturo had left her and Alex in the house while they visited together in the artist’s studio for almost an hour. In fact, the meal had been readied and placed on the table when the pair finally rejoined them.
She had enjoyed the time with Guadalupe and her daughter, Flor, and even Alex had been relaxed and had taken part in the lighthearted conversations. Amanda had asked for and received recipes for the homemade guacamole and salsa dips, as well as the rice. She knew she wouldn’t be brave enough to tackle the homemade flour tortillas, but Alex hadn’t seemed daunted and had watched with interest as Guadalupe had made the last batch and even produced sopapillas for their dessert. Amanda toyed with the idea that Alex and her friend, Darcy, might make an interesting couple. She would have to give that some more thought.
A couple of hours later, they were headed toward the main highway and back to the city. “I hope you didn’t mind the fact we didn’t have dinner in town tonight,” J.D. said, turning slightly toward her in the backseat.
“Of course not. I really had a good time. I’m sure the meal was better than anything we could have gotten in the city. Guadalupe is a marvelous cook. I can’t wait to try the recipes she shared with me,” Amanda responded with a relaxed smile on her face.
J.D. looked pleased.
“And what about your business with Arturo? Did you work out something with him?”
“Yes I did. I commissioned him to do a painting to hang over the fireplace. We talked a bit about the ranch and things like that, and I invited him and his family to come out for the day next week so he can see what I have in mind.”
That was all he'd chosen to share with her, and she didn’t ask for details. She could imagine that anything the young man chose to paint would be quite beautiful. “Yes, the day has been a good one.” Amanda sighed, leaning back against the leather-cushioned seat, her eyes content to watch the scenery as it passed by her window. The sound of Alex’s and J.D.’s voice as they planned out the next day’s activities filtered into the background. At some point, she must have closed her eyes. The next thing she became aware of was the gentle shake of a hand on her shoulder and the warmth of a voice against her forehead.
“Sorry to disturb you, sleeping beauty, but we’re at the hotel. Time to wake up.”
The words penetrated her brain first, and then an awareness of his hard, lean body supporting her own against his side. He had evidently become her pillow… and a most comfortable one! Amanda quickly moved away from the warmth and sat up.
“Sorry about that.” She felt the need to say something in the quietness of the car as Alex had left the front seat, leaving only her and J.D. in the close confines. “I guess I was more tired than I realized.”
“No problem. You only snored a couple of times,” he replied with a grin on his face and then stepped out of the door that Alex held open before she could make a reply.
“We’ve got the ten o’clock appointment at the Bronson Galleries and a one o’clock at the Marasol Gallery. Then I have a meeting with some people on the addition I am making to one of the show barns. While I do that, you can enjoy yourself with some shopping or whatever you might want to do. Sound like a plan?” J.D. outlined the next day’s itinerary as the elevator carried the three of them upward.
“Sounds like I should have brought a pair of running shoes along,” Amanda returned with a half-grin. The elevator doors opened, and she led the way into the foyer.
“A nightcap, anyone?” J.D. asked, as he inserted the key card into the door.
“Count me out. I plan a hot bath and then bed,” Ama
nda responded, stepping inside the suite and stopping beside the couch.
“I don’t like leaving a man to drink alone, so I’ll join you.” Alex smiled, following them into the suite.
“Goodnight, all,” Amanda tossed out to both men as she headed in the direction of her bedroom. They returned the sentiment.
The long soak in the hot water felt wonderful. A half-hour later, Amanda made herself leave the tub before she fell asleep in it. She pulled a soft pink eyelet gown from her case and slipped into it. It fell to just above her ankles and was sleeveless with a scoop neck. The matching long-sleeved robe would be added after she put on her lotion. She crossed the room to her makeup case on the vanity, rummaged around inside, and came up with the small bottle of rose-scented lotion. She applied a dollop in her hands and rubbed them together, moving over her shoulders and down her arms, along her legs, and around the exposed skin of her neck and chest.
She replaced the bottle and reached for her hairbrush. It wasn’t there. Amanda mentally went through her packing earlier that morning and, halfway through the mental list, it dawned on her where the brush was. She had placed it inside her shoulder bag before they had left the suite earlier that afternoon. Turning to the room, she looked for the bag. That’s when she realized she had set it down beside the couch when they entered the suite. She needed the bag. Amanda moved to the bedroom door and placed her ear against it. She didn’t hear any voices. That had to mean the men had enjoyed a quick nightcap and had retired also. After a few moments of hesitation and indecision, she gathered up her robe, slipped into it, and carefully opened the door. The only light in the living room came from the huge windows that let the amber glow of patio lighting shine into the room.
It was enough light to allow her to make her way to the couch and retrieve her bag in her hands. She turned toward her room just as a voice made her jump in surprise.
