He leaned his forehead against hers. “You know I’m only messing with you. You have done an amazing job. Incredible in fact.”
“And now I’m going to show you what an amazing job I can do of breakfast.” Brody steered her back toward the barn’s large entrance. “Why don’t you hop in the shower, while I fix us a hearty meal?”
“I think I’ll do that, if you don’t mind cooking.” Releasing his hand, Madison turned to go.
“I don’t mind at all. And by the way…”
Madison twisted back, her eyes questioning as she waited for him to finish his sentence.
Brody smiled. “You’ve still got indigo streaks on your cheek and your fingers.”
She lifted her hands to examine her fingers. Her brows drew together in a frown. “I don’t have paint on my fingers…”
His smile widening to a grin, Brody snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Got ya.”
By the time Madison returned, rubbing her wet hair with the towel draped around her neck, Brody had just turned off the two-burner stove. He allowed his gaze to appreciate her attire for a moment—denim cut-off shorts and a white, off-the-shoulder, cotton blouse that only just touched the top of her shorts. With just the two of them out here and another scorching day forecast, he fully approved of her choice of clothes.
“You look cool.” He plated the eggs beside the toast and bacon.
“I feel it.” Madison sashayed closer. Fingers hovering over one of the plates for a second, she gave in and pinched a small piece of bacon between her fingers. She dropped it into her mouth.
Nodding her approval, she chewed then swallowed. “Hmm, tastes so good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”
Brody set the plates and coffee on the tray then carried it outside to where he’d set a table for two under one of the nearby Cottonwood trees.
“You’ve been busy setting all this up.” Appreciation glowed in her eyes.
“I wanted to make this whole weekend special for you.”
After transferring the coffee cups and plates to the table, Brody leaned the tray against the tree’s large trunk.
Madison sank into her chair and lifted her knife and fork. She sighed. “Starting a day like this, it can only get better.”
The thoughts he’d had of asking her if something had bothered her yesterday, dissipated with that single sentence. He didn’t want to risk spoiling what promised to be a perfect day with his wife. If something really was bothering Madison, and it was really important, she’d tell him when she was ready.
Despite the time spent enjoying their late breakfast and later a lengthy lunch, both Brody and Madison finished their paintings of the barn by the time they needed to pack the car. The artworks of the Monument Rocks they’d started last night, they would finish back home in their studio.
Flattening the seats in the back of the SUV, Brody carefully positioned the wet canvases on the flat surface. Their overnight bag, cooler, camera bag, tripod, and French easels were tucked in the legroom behind their seats. Brody made sure to wedge the canvases tight. Unless he managed to flip the vehicle somehow, they wouldn’t budge. They’d done this often enough, he had the drill down pat.
Leaving the key to the barn beside the kettle on the kitchenette counter as arranged, Brody pulled the windowed roll-up door shut then returned to the car where Madison waited. He slid onto the leather driver’s seat then leaned over to Madison and drew her into a kiss.
“That was fun,” he said. “We need to do that again soon.”
“The kiss? Or the work overnighter?” A faint smile brushed her lips, not quite reaching her eyes before she glanced away.
“Both.”
Wrapping one hand around the steering wheel, Brody turned the key in the ignition before he was tempted to stay another night. The engine roared to life.
Madison’s mood was subdued on the trip home. After two hours of sporadic idle conversation, Brody finally decided to ask her if something was bothering her, if he’d done something to upset her.
Staring wide-eyed at him, her bottom lip quivered and her eyes moistened.
Brody’s gaze darted between the road and Madison. Clearly, something was up.
Clamping her lip between her teeth in an obvious attempt to still the tremors, Madison closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Brody. Yesterday and today…they were wonderful. But I— I have something I need to tell you.”
He knew it. He knew something had been bothering her since yesterday.
She placed a hand on his leg, tightening her clasp. “Oh, please, don’t be mad at me. Just hear me out.”
His pulse began to race. Sounded more serious than he’d thought.
“Go on…”
“I–I entered the A–Art USA c–contest.” Madison blinked as she stared at him. Was she waiting for a response? Well, he’d give her one all right.
“You did what?” It was impossible to keep the thunder from his voice. Especially because— “The same contest that I, only yesterday, mentioned Marc Talbot had entered?”
She swallowed hard and nodded, her bottom lip quivering.
“Why didn’t you say something then, Madison?”
“I–I wanted to, truly, b–but I didn’t want to spoil our weekend.”
“Well, you’ve done so now. Congratulations.” Sarcasm rolled off his tongue with that single word. Nostrils flaring, his breathing labored in long, deep inhales and exhales. “There’s more to this, isn’t there? Why are you telling me this now, unless—?”
“I took the win for Kansas.” Madison attempted a smile but her mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you first ask me what I thought about you entering before you went ahead and just did it?” He couldn’t stop the brusqueness in his voice, and he didn’t want to.
Madison drew her lips into a thin line. She looked away and gazed out of the side window. “I–I was afraid you’d prevent me from entering.”
“Quite right I would’ve. And with good reason.”
She slowly twisted back to face Brody, the look on her face and in her eyes bearing a little more boldness. “Really? And what good reason would that be?”
He couldn’t tell her—couldn’t talk to any of his family about his past. What if they all rejected him? All walked away? Like she had?
“Why wouldn’t you be excited at the prospect of winning fifty thousand dollars, not to mention having the opportunity of an exclusive exhibition at one of the most renowned galleries in New York City? Being endorsed by Ellie Sanders…that would put our gallery on the ma—”
Brody thumped his hand against the steering wheel. “I. Said. No!” He should pull over to the shoulder and stop the car, before he flipped the vehicle over. But all he wanted was to get home and out of this enclosed space with Madison. She’d betrayed him. She’d lied to him. So instead, Brody kept the wheels rolling far too fast down the US-56, his gaze flitting between his wife and the asphalt.
“No?” Madison huffed, her eyes challenging. “I can make my own decisions on my career, Brody. You don’t own me. Besides, it’s all your fault I entered.”
Incredible. Blame it on me.
He snorted. “My fault?”
“Yes. If I hadn’t been so mad at you for taking off into the storm with Charity…”
Were these the same words his father had once listened to? Was history repeating itself?
Well, he wasn’t going to take the fall for Madison’s poor choices. “Oh, honey, admit it—you would’ve entered that contest whether I was in the dog-house or not.” Bitterness tainted his words.
She opened her mouth, then shut it.
“And what artwork did you enter, because anything at the gallery belongs to Peterson Galleries, not you. As such, you would have no right to enter said piece. I could and should make you retract your entry.”
Her gaze narrowed. “In that case, it’s a good thing I entered Girl i
n a Field.”
“Girl in a Field?” They didn’t have any pieces by that title. Realization dawned. No way... She didn’t… She couldn’t have… “You entered Charity’s birthday gift? Does she even know?”
“Yes, she does. So there is nothing you can do to make me pull my entry from the contest.” Looking away once more, Madison said, “I’m leaving for New York on Friday. I would love nothing more than to have you at my side during the gala awards ceremony, supporting me, cheering me on… But if you don’t come, I’ll take Charity in your place.”
“You are not taking my daughter anywhere. If you go to New York, Madison…” He sighed, then bulldozed on, “Don’t bother coming back to Cottonwood Falls.
“Or me.”
Chapter Ten
STARING OUT of the car’s window, Madison fought back her tears as silence descended. They’d shared so much in the past two days—how could Brody forget so quickly? How could he let that all be clouded by the shroud of anger, bitterness, and resentment? She kept waiting, hoping, that Brody would talk to her…apologize… But he seemed resolved not to.
Then again, she had turned her back on him and chosen to ignore him for the rest of their journey. Even so, Madison couldn’t believe that Brody hadn’t had a kind word to say—not even the slightest hint of a congratulatory word or an nth of pride at her achievement. It was as if he wanted to keep her talent hidden in Peterson Galleries—like their gallery was to be the highest achievement of her career.
But to deny her the right to take Charity with her on a trip? Over her dead body. She was Charity’s mother, and if Brody thought for a moment he could dictate what she could and couldn’t do, he had better think again.
After an hour of deathly silence, Madison reached for her phone in the console where she’d stored it earlier. She turned her phone to vibrate and then texted Sandy. She didn’t need Brody getting even more uptight at the incoming texts’ chiming. And there were bound to be a few to and from her friend.
hey there, can charity stay over again tonight? telling brody about the art usa contest did not go well. after a wonderful weekend together, we’re now not talking to each other. i don’t want to subject charity to an evening of this. thanks. love you.
Madison hit send. Gaze fixed on the screen, she waited for a response.
It didn’t take long for the phone to vibrate against her palm. She opened the text and read.
the jerk. i know you love him, mads, but sometimes i don’t know how you live with him. i can’t believe he’s upset with you. no, scrap that, i can. it’s brody peterson we’re talking about here. ok, rant over. of course charity can sleep here…for as long as she needs. you too, if it comes to that. but i hope you can both work through this quickly, for all your sakes. love you too my friend.
Wondering if she dared type another message, Madison shot a quick glance Brody’s way. His eyes were firmly fixed on the road. Had he even noticed she was on her phone?
thanks, sands. i couldn’t get through times like these without you. you’re such a good friend. chat later. i’ll keep you updated.
Gripping the phone tightly, Madison was about to close her eyes and sleep the rest of the way when another incoming message buzzed, sending tingling sensations through her palm.
what are you going to do about new york? if your hubby can’t spot a good thing when he sees it, i’ll happily accompany you to the gala awards.
Oh, Sandy. Her friend did make her laugh.
Madison typed again. She’d need to make this her last text before Brody did notice and find yet another thing to be upset about.
thanks. i’d love to have you there, but i promised the spot to charity if brody didn’t want to go. as for what i’m going to do? girl, nobody’s going to stop me from going to new york. and i’m starting to think the sooner i leave, the better. this is too huge an opportunity to pass up. now i’d better stop texting before brody gets even more annoyed.
Madison hit send then closed her eyes again. But sleep didn’t come. Her mind churned over what she could have done better. If she’d discussed the contest with Brody first, could she have talked him into seeing the benefits of her entering? She doubted it, but now she’d never know if her husband would’ve come around. She’d certainly messed this up by not being honest and up-front initially. Then again, the outcome would probably have been the same even if she had. Maybe worse. She might never have entered, never have known her true potential to make it to the top. And if, after discussing it with him, she’d decided to defy Brody and enter, this fight would’ve been far worse.
Right... Like this could get any worse. Brody had basically told her their marriage was over, and she wouldn’t get Charity. Surely he didn’t really mean that? Surely those were merely words spoken in the heat of the moment?
Maybe by the time they got home, he’d realize what he’d said and beg for her forgiveness.
Although expecting Brody to then give his blessing for her to go to New York might be a stretch.
Reaching the outer limits of Cottonwood Falls, Brody slowed the SUV. Instead of continuing on straight toward their house, he turned the vehicle to the left. Oh no, he was going to Sandy’s house to fetch Charity.
She had to stop him.
“Brody… I–I arranged for Sandy to keep Charity tonight. It’s best I think…given the circumstances.”
Brody’s lips pursed as he contemplated her suggestion.
“Please, Brody. For Charity’s sake, not ours. Let’s not drag her into this fight. Not tonight.” Madison reached out and touched his shoulder.
He flinched, and her hand fell away.
Without warning, he spun the car around. The tires squealed, contending with the hard, gray surface beneath them.
Once home, Brody parked the SUV in the garage, sandwiching the vehicle between Charity’s Beetle on the left and Madison’s Mini Cooper on the right. They emptied the car in silence. Besides the cooler and leftover groceries, Brody unpacked only his own belongings—the two canvases he’d painted, his easel, camera, and tripod—leaving Madison’s things for her to carry in. Including their overnight bag. Probably rationalized that it contained more of her clothing than his.
After three trips inside, Madison had her easel and two wet canvases safely stored in the studio. She returned for the overnight bag, her heart and mind a cauldron of broiling emotions. Anger, heartbreak, and fear all churned together, one of them threatening to boil over.
But which? Each would yield equally disastrous consequences.
Before she allowed her feelings to get the better of her, she would take a shower and head for bed. At least in slumber she could shout, scream, or cry.
Madison trudged upstairs to the bedroom. And it’s closed door.
She turned the doorknob.
Locked.
Dear Jesus
So I’m sleeping over an extra night at Aunt Sandy’s house. That can only mean one thing… Mom telling Dad about the contest did not go well.
I’m fearful for them, Lord. I’m so worried that this could be the fight they don’t recover from. They’re both so hard-headed at times. I know how much my mother wants this. And I can only imagine how much my father won’t want her doing it.
I don’t want their marriage to break up. I don’t want to have divorced parents—maybe having no choice with whom I would stay. And even if I did have a choice, how could I favor one over the other? I love both of my parents equally. And I want them to grow old together.
Please, dear Jesus, help them to reconcile.
With love
Your daughter
Charity
(At least, with you, there is no fear of separation.)
Chapter Eleven
MADISON SHOT upright in bed, her body damp with a cold sweat, and not because the weatherman had forecast another scorching day in Kansas. She wiped her face with her palms, the vivid image fresh in her mind—Brody and her tugging at Charity’s arms, their daughter’s screams as her body beg
an to rend in two.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, out of the way, she exhaled a weighted sigh and whispered, “It was only a dream…only a dream.”
Although Charity’s bed had been comfortable, Madison had not woken refreshed. When she finally turned the light out last night, sleep had not come easy. And by the time it did, her slumber was consumed with dark, disturbing dreams of her and Brody splitting up and the ensuing fights over Charity.
Madison threw back the covers and rose. She stared up at the Girl in a Field hanging on Charity’s wall above her bed. She had locked the bedroom door last night, fearing that Brody might just sneak in and steal that painting off the wall. She’d put nothing past him sabotaging her being in New York with that canvas this weekend.
She unlocked the door then padded down the passage to her own bedroom. Unlike last night, the door now stood wide open. She tiptoed inside.
Empty, the bed made as if it hadn’t even been slept in.
Was Brody downstairs, or had he already left?
She glanced at the digital clock on the night stand. Six forty-five. Brody usually headed for Emporia around seven-thirty. He must still be downstairs. Had the night apart helped his temper to cool? She could only hope so.
One way to find out…
Madison turned and exited the bedroom.
The kitchen was silent, deserted. Madison poked her head inside the garage. Brody’s SUV was gone. So he had left for work way earlier than normal, without saying goodbye or leaving a note.
Well if that was the way he wanted to play this, she knew exactly what she needed to do next—be away from the situation so that Brody could have time to calm down. And staying here in the house wouldn’t help him to change his mind. All it would do was enflame the situation. With her gone, hopefully he’d miss her and see how foolish he’d been. Perhaps that would spur him on to join her in New York before Saturday night.
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