Country Roads (5 page)

“So they’re not going to be as marketable as my earlier ones.” Julia felt the weight of her uncle’s judgment land on her shoulders like a lead shawl.

“That’s not what I meant,” Claire said, coming over to take Julia’s hands and squeeze them encouragingly. “You’ve done your job. You’ve made superb art. Now you have to let me do my job, which is to find the right buyers for it.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat the truth for me,” Julia said, squaring her shoulders as she gently pulled her hands away. “If they aren’t good enough to sell, just tell me.”

“They’re more than good enough to sell.” Paul’s voice was firm. “I want one, and I’ve never bought an original artwork in my entire life.”

Claire’s eyes lit up. “If you’re planning to stay here in Sanctuary for a while, I have an idea. It’s a little risky, but it might make a big splash in the art world.”

“What kind of idea?” Julia wasn’t big on making splashes. Most of her life had been structured to avoid anything that might create unnecessary tension for her.

Claire shook her head. “I need to work out the details before I tell you.” She started toward the door. “Let me give you your advance, so you can buy lunch.”

“It’s my treat,” Paul said.

Before she could protest, he put his hand in the small of Julia’s back and propelled her firmly toward the door. Her shirt was so thin, it felt as though his palm was touching her bare skin. Little shivers of heat radiated out from his hand to skitter across her back.

Or maybe she was light-headed from hunger.

J
ULIA TOOK THREE
steps onto the Library Café’s open-air dining terrace and halted, gazing with delight at the town of Sanctuary spread out below them. “It’s like one of those perfect Victorian towns they set up around model railroads.”

“We try to keep it nice,” Paul said.

As they stood just outside the French doors, waiting to be seated, she glanced up to see him scanning the view with a proprietary air. “You look at it as though you own it,” she teased.

A shadow crossed his face. “Sometimes I feel more like it owns me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was mayor of Sanctuary for two terms, and some folks think I still am.”

“Best mayor we ever had.” A white-haired woman wearing a yellow apron embroidered with an open book beside a piece of cake walked up with two menus tucked under her arm.

“Can you tell Mrs. Bostic was my number-one supporter?” Paul’s smile was genuine as he leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek.

“Get on with you,” the café hostess said. “I may have told all my friends to vote for you, but I was just doing what was best for the town. Sunshine or shade for your table?”

“Sunshine,” Julia said, just as Paul said, “Shade.”

“I figured you might burn with that fair skin and red hair,” Paul said, as they followed Mrs. Bostic to a green metal café table set under a yellow-and-white striped umbrella.

Pleasure blossomed in her chest because he had noticed something about her, even if he should have asked where she wanted to sit. “Sometimes it’s worth the burn to feel the sunbeams on your skin.”

He pulled out the wicker chair. “It’s not good for you, though.” He sat down across from her, leaving the menu closed on the table as Mrs. Bostic pulled out an order pad. “I recommend the chicken salad sandwich and the sweet potato fries. And the pecan pie, if you have a sweet tooth,” Paul said.

Julia had declared her independence when she loaded her paintings in the Suburban to set out for Sanctuary, and she wasn’t about to give it up now. She opened the menu, scanned through it, and grimaced. He had ordered exactly what she would have chosen. She slapped the folder shut on the table. “And an iced tea, please.”

“You see. I let you choose your own beverage.” His pale eyes held an understanding glint.

Mrs. Bostic scooped up the menus. “I’ll have your drinks here in a jiffy.”

Julia waited until the woman was several steps away. “Are you always so bossy?”

“No, I just know what’s best for everyone.”

That reminded Julia of what her uncle had said when he told her he wouldn’t offer her new paintings to the gallery:
I’m doing what’s best for your career
. The pain of his rejection seared through her again. He had been like a father to her since her parents moved away. She turned in the direction of the view but saw nothing of its beauties.

“That was meant to be a joke.” Paul’s wry voice broke into her reverie.

She jumped and turned back to him. “I know. I was thinking about something else.”

“Nothing good, from your expression.” He was spinning a spoon back and forth through the fingers of his right hand.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. Should I be?” The spoon continued to twirl as though it had a life of its own.

“Well, it’s just that you’re fiddling with that spoon.” She gestured toward his hand.

Frowning, he looked down and placed the spoon on the table, lining it up with the knife beside it.

“You didn’t even realize you were doing it, did you?”

He shrugged. “It’s a habit I should have broken by now.” He unfolded his napkin onto his lap. “So, shall I drop you at Claire’s house after lunch? She ought to be home by then.”

“At Claire’s house?”

“She invited you to spend the night with her.”

“She did?”

“As we were leaving the gallery.”

“I was distracted.” By his hand warming her skin through the gauze of her blouse. Her eyes were drawn to his long, elegant fingers now lying still on the table.

“What’s the verdict, now that you know about the invitation?”

Julia gnawed at her lip. Her original plan had been to head back to her home immediately after hearing what Claire had to say about the paintings. She had worked hard to cover her tracks, because she hadn’t wanted Carlos to know she didn’t trust his opinion of her work. Now she needed to regroup.

On one hand, it was exhilarating to be free of the protective cocoon her uncle had built around her. A cocoon she no longer needed, according to her doctors. On the other, she was ignorant of the way the art world worked. Her instincts told her to
trust Claire, but then, she had trusted Carlos too. The thought of making what Claire termed “a big splash” held as much terror as excitement.

She looked at the man across the table from her, his gray eyes sharp with intelligence. Maybe she
should
stay here and hire him in all seriousness to help her through the situation. God knew, she was having a hard time thinking clearly for herself.

“I’m starting to feel like a bug pinned to a board,” Paul said, lifting an eyebrow.

“I guess you’ve never had your portrait painted.” She stalled as she considered her crazy idea. “That’s how an artist looks at a subject.”

“The town budget doesn’t run to portraits of past mayors.”

She chuckled halfheartedly as Mrs. Bostic returned with their drinks in tall glasses sweating with moisture. “You’d make a good subject, you know. You have a strong bone structure.”

“Tall, dark, and handsome. That’s me.” He said it as though it was a line he’d used before but didn’t really believe. She began to grasp his smooth patter covered a withdrawal from the conversation.

“Better than that. Tall, dark, and intriguing.” She spoke without thinking because she was still focused on her inner debate.

But she had snagged his attention again. His gaze settled on her and sharpened. “So you want to know me better?”

“It’s professional,” she sidestepped lamely. “As a painter, I find you interesting.”

It was true as far as it went.

He laughed and shook his head. “That’s a first.”

The white flash of his teeth against his olive skin and the husky maleness of his laugh tipped the scales of her decision. She would stay here for a few days. Since she would have to tell Carlos she had been here, she no longer needed to cover her tracks and could use her credit card. A change of scene might be good for
her. And it would allow her to postpone the painful confrontation with her uncle a little longer.

“Let me guess. You’re wondering what to say to your uncle when you get home,” Paul said.

“How did you know?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t put you on the witness stand if you were guilty.”

She frowned. “I’ve never needed to hide anything before.” Most of her life, she had let her parents and then her uncle enfold her in their protective care while she focused on exploring her ability to create art. Except for her stint at art school in Greensboro, she’d never lived more than five miles from the house she grew up in, nestled in the mountains of western North Carolina. Even at school, she’d been so focused on excelling and so embarrassed by her public seizure that she’d isolated herself from her fellow students for the two years she stayed there.

She glanced back at the view. Sanctuary wasn’t exactly a bustling metropolis, but it was filled with places and people she’d never seen before. And Paul Taggart lived in it.

“Talk to me, Julia. I’m your lawyer, so you can tell me what’s going on behind those big green eyes.” His long fingers circled his glass and he took a sip of the cola in it.

“I’ve decided to stay here for a couple of days, but not at Claire’s. I can pay for my own hotel. And I want you to give me some legal advice about the problem with my uncle. For real this time, not pro bono.”

His eyebrows rose. “So you’re taking the advance?”

“I have a credit card. I just didn’t want to use it.”

“You didn’t want your uncle to know where you had gone.”

She nodded.

“Here you go. The best chicken salad in West by gosh Virginia.” Mrs. Bostic slid their plates onto the woven placemats.
“You know, Paul got this library built when he was mayor. You wouldn’t be sitting here enjoying the view without a whole lot of time, effort, and persuasion on his part.”

Julia swiveled to take in the large brick building behind her. It was gracefully designed to hug its hilltop setting, yet it had the presence a repository of knowledge should. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“All I did was organize a lot of good, hardworking folks,” Paul said, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. She liked the fact he didn’t want to take the credit.

“So you’re new in town?” the hostess asked Julia.

“I just arrived today.” She took a deep breath before holding out her hand and saying, “I’m Julia Castillo.”

“She’s one of Claire’s artists,” Paul said.

“Well, I’ll be. You painted that pretty picture of the horses over to the gallery. My daughter likes it so much, she goes to see it at least once a week.” The woman pumped Julia’s hand.

“Really? That’s nice to hear.” She meant it. She realized the isolation she lived in had protected her from the worry of criticism, but it had also deprived her of the pleasure of people’s appreciation.

“Yup. She says it’s so peaceful she just wants to lay down on the grass with the horses and forget all her troubles,” Mrs. Bostic continued.

Fear clenched a fist around Julia’s throat. Mrs. Bostic’s daughter would hate her new work; there was nothing peaceful about it. Julia forced herself to take a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, trying to work the tension out.

The older lady leaned down to murmur something in Paul’s ear. Smiling, he shifted his gaze to Julia, saying, “I don’t think she’d mind at all.”

“Would you autograph my order pad for my daughter? She’d be mighty pleased. Her name’s Sherry.”

Julia felt a nip of surprise. “Wow, this is the first time I’ve ever been asked for my autograph.” She took the pad Mrs. Bostic held out, trying to think of something to say. Just writing her name seemed sort of arrogant, but her mind was blank about what to add to it. Evidently, she wasn’t good at this kind of interaction. She tapped the pen against her cheek for several seconds before she gave up and did a quick sketch of a horse’s head, signing her name under it. “I hope that’s okay.”

The woman flipped the pad around and crowed with delight. “Her very own horse picture by a famous artist. She’ll be chuffed.”

“You may have set a dangerous precedent,” Paul said, as the hostess showed the pad to another diner. “Your fans will be demanding sketches with every autograph.”