The Sky of Endless Blue

by Ava Miles

  “A gold digger?”

  “Actually, her family is extremely wealthy, but she’s pressed for things…like a gold digger might. Trev programmed the ringtone one night when we were drunk. It was supposed to be a joke.”

  Some joke. God, it sounded like a celebrity breakup.

  “Some days I thought I’d never be free of her. I resigned from my old job and sold my company shares when she pressed for them. They could have given her a controlling interest. I thought that would stop her…”

  “But you were only married two years. How could she—”

  “Take me to the cleaners like that?” he asked. “We were married in New York and didn’t have a pre-nup. A mistake on my part, but honestly, my lawyer said even if we’d had one, she would have tried to break it. Apparently it’s easier to do than you’d think, especially in New York. There are lots of wily divorce lawyers who like to challenge everything that’s decent and good about the law. And she’s represented by one of Manhattan’s best firms.”

  Her head was swimming. “I still don’t fully understand.”

  He ran a hand through his wheat-colored hair. “I know… I didn’t at first either. I had no framework for the way people could manipulate family law to suck a person dry. I tried over and over again to give her a fair settlement, but it was never enough. I finally gave the bulk of my money away. It was the only play I could see. Thankfully, the judge finally granted our divorce.”

  Goodness, she couldn’t imagine anyone being that greedy. Or bitter. “Then why is she calling now?”

  He shrugged. “She said she’s not done making me pay, and…she thinks I’ve given her an opening—”

  “With Evan’s new company?”

  “She mentioned the museum.”

  She reared back. “The museum? But how could she? You’re donating all of the paintings to the university.”

  And as his art consultant, Caroline had gone over the entire collection with him. The provenance was solid, she knew, as was his vision for sharing the Merriam art collection with the world.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I want to think she’s gone bat-shit crazy in response to the final decree.”

  She could hear the quaver in his voice. “And yet she tied you up for three years.”

  He nodded. “When you put Cynthia and her lawyers together, even the titans would tremble. But don’t worry. Our lawyers are the best too, and they’ve helped me look at every loophole. I’ve done what I can to protect myself and those assets from her.”

  But would it be enough? Suddenly she was as worried about their dream as he appeared to be. “Oh, J.T.”

  “See! This is why I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want to see you tense up like this. Today was supposed to be a celebration for you and me, moving forward.”

  Yeah, the champagne didn’t seem appropriate anymore. “Did she say what she plans to do?”

  “Other than skewer me alive and turn me on her great fire pit? No, nothing specific. But I’ll know soon. She moves fast.”

  That certainly didn’t make her feel any better. “Do we need to talk to the university?”

  “The new university president might not be the one who originally green-lit the idea, but he’s completely on board about the museum. The trustees approved it.”

  And yet, the light that had always shone in his eyes when he talked about the museum just wasn’t there. His vision for the art gallery had so charmed her that she hadn’t thought twice about agreeing to leave her job in Denver to help set up the museum. While her logical mind had suggested it might be a bad decision to work for the man who had her heart, the strength of their connection and the quality of his art collection had overridden it. Oh, to be a caretaker for those remarkable works of art, working side by side with this man…

  The romance and beauty of the idea had swayed her, but now she had to wonder if she’d been foolish. What if she ended up marooned in Dare Valley without a job? While being back here with her family was tantalizing, the town didn’t yet have a gallery capable of competing with any in Denver.

  “J.T., I need you to tell me the truth.” She took off her sunglasses so she could look him in the eye. “Do you think she’ll try and stop the museum somehow? Should I hold off on quitting my job?”

  He heaved a weary sigh. “As much as I wish it were otherwise, let’s give it a little more time. I should know more soon. Then we can decide on the best course.”

  “I think that’s smart,” she said, her stomach turning sour.

  She sure as heck didn’t want to burn any bridges, and her boss was not going to be happy when she handed in her notice. She feared Kendra might not act professionally, so she’d been practicing her resignation speech in the mirror, trying to decide on the best way to frame her decision. The art scene was like a small town—everybody knew everybody, and gossip was rampant. If she made it known that Kendra’s mentoring had prepared her for an opportunity of a lifetime, curating the Merriam art collection, it would look like a win for both of them. Even Kendra would have to acknowledge that. But if she left her job and the museum didn’t come to fruition, well, that same gossip mill could turn against her easily enough. At least this happened before she’d quit.

  “I hate this,” J.T. said. “That spark of light in your face when we talk about the museum is gone, and it’s my fault. Dammit! I didn’t want this to touch you.”

  She’d noticed the same thing about him, of course, but she didn’t want to mention it. “Did she live in Rome with you?” she asked, wondering how much she could ask about this woman.

  “No, she never liked having a permanent residence. She was one of those wealthy socialites who goes from house to house, party to party.”

  Caroline had sold art to such people, but it wasn’t her world. She couldn’t imagine being so rootless. She loved traveling, sure, but there was no better feeling than coming home and sleeping in her own bed. And she loved spending time with her family.

  “But you worked in Rome,” she said. “How—”

  “I’d fly out to join her for long weekends if I could get away or conduct business wherever she was calling home. Sometimes she came to Rome, but not often. That arrangement didn’t work for me, which is one of the reasons it didn’t last long.”

  “Did she cheat on you?” His posture straightened, as if her question had physically jolted him, and she put her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was a terribly nosy question.”

  His mouth tipped up on the right, and his dimple appeared. “But a fair one, I suppose. No, not to my knowledge.”

  Silence grew between them, a little uncomfortable now that she’d brought up his former sex life.

  “I’m glad you put the brakes on due to something this serious,” she felt compelled to add.

  “I told you in Rome I wanted you,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Yes, we’d only just met as adults, and yes, we’ll be working together, but that wasn’t the reason I held back. I’m glad you know I’m finally free. I just wish…”

  “She hadn’t called and ruined our picnic?”

  He closed his eyes, his face drawn. “I’ll make it up to you somehow,” he said. “Are we okay? I mean, despite the fact that I may have a shark coming after me.”

  “I know what this means for my job.” She paused, looking him in the eye. “What does it mean for us?”

  He took his time answering. “Let’s see how this week goes.”

  A week? She didn’t like it, but she could do a week. “I’m here for you, J.T. Whatever comes.”

  “Thank you,” he said, opening his eyes and gazing at her. “I wanted to protect you from this. Her.”

  His tone held the kind of defeat she’d only heard in movies about the Alamo. “I want to punch her…in the face or something for hurting you. For hurting what you love.”

  What I love.

  He lifted a hand and caressed her face. “Finding you has given me a future to look forward to. So has the museum.” His eyes
got a far-off look. “The idea came to me while I was sitting in front of my favorite painting in my parents’ house in Napa, nursing a few whiskeys. I’m not sure what I would have done otherwise.”

  She knew the painting he was referring to. He’d first shown it to her when he’d brought her to Napa. Now it hung in his den here in Dare Valley. The sight of it had made Uncle Arthur teary-eyed. “The one of Emmits Merriam at his first oil well.”

  It showed him as a young man dressed in work clothes with oil on his rough brown boots. His hands stretched out to the big blue Oklahoma sky and his eyes held the rapture of someone who’d just struck it rich. Literally. That oil had changed Emmits’ life, and he’d done a lot of good in the world with his money. Fortunately, so had the generations after him, and J.T. was one of them. Or had been.

  “Spending time with that painting reminded me of how much I loved art. Musing over my Grandpa Emmits’ life, I remembered one of his sayings that always stuck with me. You can do anything you want. You just have to decide to do it and give it your all. That’s when I realized I could make something new with art, and I knew it had to be a museum, so everyone could see the art our family has collected over the years. What better place to bring it than here, to the university he started.”

  But he wouldn’t be bringing all of it because his aunt had a portion of the collection in her hands. He’d briefed her on the family feud between his father and his aunt. His dad hadn’t liked the guy she’d married, and they’d had a row because her husband, a trust fund dick, had tried to insert himself into Merriam Oil & Gas. Reinhold Allerton hadn’t really wanted a job—his interest in the company was limited to a title and a paycheck. J.T.’s grandma had told Reinhold to back off and leave the family company to J.T.’s father. Clara hadn’t liked that much, and so it had begun.

  Plucking up all the paintings from the family house in the Hamptons had been her revenge. She and J.T.’s dad hadn’t seen each other since their mother’s funeral.

  Even so, Caroline figured it would be worth asking the woman again—this was years ago and it was for a good cause—but J.T. hadn’t come around. Secretly, she hoped his Aunt Clara would hear about the new museum and want to contribute her portion of the Merriam collection, either out of conscience or the fame it would bring her. Caroline didn’t care which.

  “It’s no wonder Emmits and Uncle Arthur were such good friends,” she said. “I wish I’d known him.”

  Some of the light returned to his eyes. “Me too, but in a way I feel like I do, never more so than when I look at his painting or walk through this town. God, I love this place.” He stared at her with the intense focus that came so naturally to him. “And even though I’ve kept something so important from you, I hope you can forgive me.”

  She felt the corner of her mouth tip up. “Just this once.”

  “Funny. I don’t suppose you’d still like to pop this champagne and munch on some of your favorite greens before we head over to your sister’s house.”

  She could tell he needed some reassurance too, so she forced a smile. “Of course.”

  Even to her ears, her voice was flat. The pop of the champagne cork seemed to echo her sentiments, and for once neither of them toasted. They mostly ate in silence, and it galled her to realize their outing had fallen short of both their expectations.

  The secret that had held him back might be out, but it hadn’t brought them any closer together.

  Chapter 4

  Arthur Hale hated waking up worried, but he feared the Merriam legacy in Dare Valley was in jeopardy. Trevor had pulled him aside at yesterday’s shindig to give him the news. He’d been wondering about J.T.’s prune-like face and the worried looks he kept darting at Caroline.

  Cripes, that woman! Cynthia Newhouse didn’t know what she was up against this time. A fight was brewing, and he needed to get ready for it, both for J.T. and for the memory of his long-lost friend and mentor, Emmits Merriam. Emmits had fought for what he believed in until his last breath, and Arthur intended to do the same.

  Still, there was no denying it was getting harder to crawl out of bed these days. He was turning eighty this May, and some mornings he felt every day of it. He rubbed his right hip, which hurt like a bitch, and watched the sun rise through the large windows in his bedroom. The pink and orange tones seemed to spread flame across the sky. The sunrise always inflated his spirits. There was another day to do what needed doing, and he was grateful for the chance. After his beloved wife, Harriet, had died, he’d ripped off the curtains so he could take in this daily spectacle of creation. It wasn’t like he was worried someone was going to see him parading around naked. His house was remote, and the only unexpected visitors he had were animals. And really, was a wild turkey or an elk going to pause and stare at his old, scrawny body? Not in a million years.

  He eyed the clock. Waking up at six fifteen wasn’t bad after going to sleep late last night. His extended family had partied until after ten, when Caroline had finally announced that she needed to drive back to Denver so she’d be ready for work in the morning. God bless J.T. He’d offered to drive her back, but no, his niece had turned him down. That worried Arthur some, but who could blame the poor girl for needing space after J.T.’s ex-wife had interrupted what should have been a romantic picnic? Arthur hadn’t liked Caroline not knowing about the infernal divorce proceedings, but he’d understood and respected J.T.’s desire to keep it a secret until it was over.

  Regardless, those kids belonged together. Cynthia Newhouse might try to wreak more havoc, but Arthur didn’t intend to let her ruin things for J.T. and Caroline. And that wasn’t the only thing he had to sort out before he left this world.

  Of course, at his age, he thought about death. Not in the weird coffin kind of way—like whether his dead body would be surrounded in white silk or some such nonsense. He could care less. No, he thought about what he was leaving behind and making sure the future was secure for those who came after him—exactly as Emmits had done before him.

  Sure, Arthur’s dream had come true when his granddaughter Meredith left New York for Dare Valley and re-joined his newspaper. Even better that she’d wed a famous journalist, Tanner McBride, and brought him on board too. He’d danced more than a few times with his cane when no one was looking. The Western Independent was stronger from an editorial point of view than ever. Arthur didn’t even write every Sunday op-ed anymore, granting that prize spot to Meredith and Tanner whenever they pitched him something worthy.

  But financially, the paper was going through the same crunch every other paper from The Washington Post to The New York Times was experiencing. Technology had changed the landscape forever, but Arthur had resisted changing with the times. He didn’t want to offer his paper for a free trial on some decked-out website or post part of an article, only to bribe earnest readers—forcing them to either become an online subscriber or forever wonder how the story ended. Meredith had put her foot down, insisting they had to have some sort of digital presence. Both of them had caved some.

  The three-million-dollar loan he’d taken out to go digital wasn’t paid off yet and the interest was killing him. Bah! Meredith was battling with him more and more about trying new online tricks while Tanner watched all creepy quiet from the corner. That man could give lessons in active listening and watching. Right now, Arthur was going to have to hold the line on rejecting more tech improvements. Paying his loan on time was important, especially since he’d put the newspaper’s building up as collateral. Adding to it would only extend things, and Arthur didn’t like the idea of leaving Meredith and Tanner with a load of debt should he up and die.

  Plus there was the damn advertising… Courting new and old clients was more competitive than ever, and none of them liked that part of the business.

  Arthur scratched the scruff on his face as he stared out the window. Shaving had gotten harder as he’d grown older. Hell, his secretary sometimes pointed out that he’d missed part of his face or under his chin. Like he coul
d see that well anymore. Even his glasses weren’t that good, and it pissed him off. He’d thought about growing a beard in his older years, but it didn’t seem professional to him. In his generation, men were expected to be clean-shaven. Male facial hair was a bit baffling when you stopped to think about it. Why in the hell didn’t it give out like the rest of the body? Why did hair stop growing on a bald man’s head and sprout from his nose instead? Did God chuckle every morning at such male inconveniences?

  Getting old was for the birds.

  He gathered himself to roll over and winced as he heard four pops in his back. Some days, it sounded like someone was popping off gunfire back there. But at least he had his mind. His mind and the paper, digital inconveniences aside.

  People kept asking why an almost eighty-year-old needed to work from eight in the morning until six at night. He usually barked his response. Because he fucking loved it, and yes, he’d said “fucking.” Sometimes it was the only word to get the job done. He loved what he’d created with the paper. Loved the buzz of the newsroom. Loved shaping words with the intention of changing opinions or opening minds to a subject or issue. It was in his veins, like the black ink he joked about. How did a man walk away from what pumped in his heart?

  He was trying to secure his own legacy as best he could—and now he was going to have to protect the Merriam legacy too. J.T. needed a pep talk but good. Arthur sat up and reached for his cane, feeling the weight of re-spon-si-bil-ity. Some called it a dirty word, but not him. He had the strength to do what was needed, and he tapped his trusty cane on the floor for good measure. He was going to call that boy right now and leave a message. Yesterday’s party hadn’t been the place for them to talk. Plus, he’d wanted to stew over matters, much like he knew Trevor would be doing. That boy was downright scary sometimes, but he was a good ally in this fight against the woman he called Sin City. Heck! Now that was some nickname. The boy was right. Never get involved with a woman whose first name had “sin” in it, even phonetically. Big mistake.