Country Roads (3 page)

A
FTER A LONG
moment of silence, Julia lifted her head to find him staring at her as though she were some strange specimen from outer space. “The
painter
Julia Castillo?” Paul said, astonishment ringing in his voice.

“You’ve heard of me?” Julia asked. Then the reason struck her. “Oh right, you know Claire Parker, er, Arbuckle.”

“Your paintings are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and you’re driving that rust bucket?” His gaze narrowed. “But you haven’t produced any new work in, what, two years. Is that the problem? You’ve run through all your money?”

Now she was staring at him as disbelief smacked into her. “What do you mean I haven’t done anything in two years?” She’d been painting nonstop until a week ago.

He straightened away from his lounging pose against the door, his eyes lit by an interest focused entirely on her. She had been intimidated by his height before, but now she was more worried about his mind. She sensed it would be impossible to hide anything from this man. Shifting sideways in her seat, she tried to put a little more distance between them.

“Claire has one of your paintings from back when she worked in New York. She says it’s a masterpiece, and she wishes she had more to sell to her clients. But she hasn’t been able to get her hands on anything new in a couple of years, despite the high demand for your work.”

Julia forgot her concerns about Paul Taggart as shock punched her in the gut. Her uncle had told her people didn’t like the changes in her style, so her new work wasn’t selling. He kept trying to persuade her to go back to the way she used to paint. He didn’t understand she couldn’t.

When he’d seen her most recent set of paintings, he had told her he wouldn’t even offer them to a gallery because they would ruin her reputation. Then he’d gently questioned her about how well she was sleeping, whether she was upset about something, and her diet. She knew he was just concerned about her health, but she hated the implication that her brain might be malfunctioning in a way that affected her work.

She’d spent a horrible night crying, pacing, and doubting herself before she decided to make a last-ditch effort to protect her art. So she had headed for Sanctuary because Claire Parker had been the first art dealer to buy her paintings, back when Claire worked at a big gallery in New York City.

“I take it those paintings in the back of your car are not the only new ones you’ve done in the last two years?”

Paul Taggart’s deep voice cut through the agitation of her thoughts. “No, I’ve been working steadily.” In fact, she had been excited about the direction her work was taking despite her uncle’s criticism and implications. She could almost feel the power flowing from her inner vision through the brush and onto the canvas. It was a darker vision, full of risk, but it came from deep within her. That’s what had given her the courage to strike out for Sanctuary on her own.

“But your agent hasn’t been selling any of it?”

She shook her head. “He says people don’t like it because it’s different from my previous paintings.”

“It sounds like we need to do a little investigation of your agent.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Julia, he’s either incompetent or hiding something from you. There’s a huge demand for your work. Even I know that and I’m not part of the art world.”

“He’s my uncle, almost like a father to me.” She felt tears well in her eyes and turned away so he wouldn’t see them. “Why would he do this?”

Paul’s voice was gentle. “It’s a sad fact that I see in my line of work all the time. Family members aren’t always honest with each other, especially when it involves large sums of money.”

She shook her head, knowing in her bones her uncle wouldn’t steal from her. “It wouldn’t be about money.” She blinked against the tears still threatening. “I just don’t understand.”

Long, warm fingers closed over the white-knuckled fist she had clenched on her thigh. His touch was firm enough to offer strength but light enough to be comforting. She turned back to him to say thank you, but the words evaporated as she met his eyes. In them she saw compassion and sympathy and something else that sent a shiver of awareness rippling through her body. The feel of his palm against her hand took on a sudden charge of sensuality. She felt exhilarated, not threatened.

The blast of a horn shattered the strange mood. A big flatbed truck with flashing yellow lights pulled onto the shoulder in front of Paul’s car. He released her hand and swung open his door, saying, “The cavalry has arrived.”

It took Julia a moment to pull herself back to the dusty roadside. She must have imagined the moment of connection, because her rescuer seemed unaffected by it. He had shifted back to the problem of her car without a moment’s pause.

She got out of the car and joined the two men as they walked back toward her SUV.

“Bud, this is Julia,” Paul said. “Julia, Bud Skaggs.”

Bud wiped his hand on his coveralls before holding it out. “I hear you’re headed for Sanctuary but fell a mite short. We’ll get you there one way or the other.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” Julia liked the small, wiry man immediately. He had grizzled hair and skin like wrinkled leather. The three of them stood looking down at the flat tire.

Bud shook his head and raised his gaze to Julia. “I’m thinking you might want to trade the whole vehicle in for a newer model.”

“Could you just take it to the gallery for right now? I’ll figure out what to do with it after that.”

“If that’s what you want, it’s fine with me,” Bud said agreeably. “Paul, if you move your Corvette, I’ll get this nice lady’s SUV loaded up on the truck.”

Julia put every ounce of the gratitude she felt into the look she gave Paul. “Thank you so much for everything. I’ll send whatever I owe you to the address on your business card.”

“Are you firing me so soon?” he said, lifting a dark slash of an eyebrow. “I think I should at least get to see these paintings and hear what Claire has to say about them.”

“Are you an art lover?”

“No, but I have a weakness for a good mystery. I want to know if your uncle is right or wrong about your new style.”

“He’s wrong,” she said, lifting her chin.

“I’m the last person to have an opinion on art, so don’t look daggers at me,” Paul protested, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

“Hey, Paul, you going to move that ’Vette or am I going to drive over it?” Bud called out from the window of his truck.

“I’m on my way,” Paul said over his shoulder before he turned back to her. “You might want to ride with me since the cab of Bud’s truck isn’t usually in any kind of condition to carry passengers.”

As he strode away without waiting for her answer, Julia thrust her hands in her jeans pockets and watched him fold himself into
his low-slung sports car. He pulled around the tow truck and stopped while Bud backed up to her Suburban and began hooking various chains to it.

Julia stood on the side of the road, the wind from the passing cars whipping her hair across her face, wondering how everything had gotten so complicated.

“Don’t look so worried.” Paul had walked up beside her. “We’ll get it all straightened out.”

“I’ll bet you’re a very successful lawyer,” she said, glancing up at him. “You have that air of trustworthiness down pat.”

“Maybe because I
am
trustworthy.”

She wanted to believe him, because right now she was feeling very alone. No matter how much she and her uncle had disagreed over her work, she had trusted him. Now she had no one…except Paul Taggart. She could feel her lips start to tremble, and she pressed them together hard.

“Hey,” he said, bending down so he could see her face. “Seriously. Everything will be all right.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and suddenly his arms were around her. His shirt held the scent of starch and a citrusy soap. It had been a long time since she’d found herself pressed against a male body, and she caught herself drawing more than mere comfort from his touch.

A grinding of metal on metal made her jump and pull away. Bud was winching her car onto the tilted flatbed. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

Paul still held her shoulders in a gentle grip. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Just a moment of weakness. I appreciate the hug.”

“Any time you need it. And I mean that.”

She examined his face. His gray eyes were dark with concern, and he gave her shoulders a little squeeze before he released them.

Maybe he really did mean it.

I
CAN
’
T BELIEVE
it!” The beautiful dark-haired woman in the pink high heels took Julia’s outstretched hand in both of hers and stared. “I’ve found Julia Castillo.”

“Actually, I found her,” Paul said. “Julia, this is Claire Parker Arbuckle. Julia’s gone to a lot of trouble to get to you, Claire.”

Claire shook her head once, sharply, and gave Julia a warm smile. “My apologies. I’ve been hoping to see more of your work for so long I can’t believe my good fortune.”

“And you owe it to me,” Paul said.

“Actually, I did most of the driving,” Julia said in a dry tone. “Paul just brought me the last few miles.” And he looked at Claire as though she were a memory that made him sad and happy at the same time. She was trying to figure out what it might mean when Bud walked in carrying one of her paintings.

“Where shall I put this?” the older man asked.

“Right here,” Claire said, pulling forward an empty easel from a corner of the back room where they’d found her. Her eyes lit up as Bud carefully propped up the plastic-wrapped canvas. “I feel like it’s Christmas in June.”

Terror clawed at Julia’s gut. Now that she had the audience she had traveled so far to find, she wanted to turn and run. The confidence she had felt in the new paintings evaporated in the face of Claire’s anticipation. She stared at the easel, but it showed no distortion around its edges. Somehow she was handling the stress.

“I’m being a terrible hostess,” Claire said, turning away from the canvas. She waved to a couple of Lucite-and-metal chairs. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

As the moment of panic receded, Julia couldn’t decide if she was relieved or frustrated to have Claire’s verdict postponed. Her throat was so tight she was certain she wouldn’t be able to swallow anything. “No, thank you, I’m fine.” She perched on the edge of a chair while Paul lounged in the other one, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his fingers beating a quiet tattoo on the desktop beside him.

Claire sat back down in the desk chair she’d been occupying when they walked in. In her slim beige linen skirt and pink silk blouse, she looked like she should be strolling down Fifth Avenue. Leaning forward, she looked at Julia with a touch of bemusement. “Tell me why you drove all the way here in an unreliable car.”

Julia had no idea how to couch her story in more positive terms, so she went with the bald truth. “I want your opinion on the paintings I brought.”

Claire’s eyebrows rose. “My opinion?”

“Yes. They’re different from what I used to do, and I want to know what you think of them.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell this stunning, sophisticated woman her uncle-cum-agent hated them so much he wouldn’t even show them to a dealer.

“I’m honored, but why me? Why the Gallery at Sanctuary?” Claire waved her hand at the storage room with its stark white walls, wide-plank floor, and racks of artwork. “As much as I love it here, it’s not the epicenter of the art world.”

“You were the first person to show my work in New York City. My uncle and I were so excited when you took those paintings of mine five years ago. Then he told me you’d moved to a gallery in Sanctuary, West Virginia.” Julia locked eyes with Claire, willing her to understand how important this was. “It seemed like the right choice.”

Claire’s gaze was still puzzled as she scanned Julia’s face.

Paul’s drumming ceased when he entered the conversation. “Julia’s agent—who’s also her uncle—wasn’t sure about the market for these paintings, so Julia decided to consult with an expert. Knowing your interest in her work, she came to you.”