by Peggy Bird
Sparked by Love
Peggy Bird
Avon, Massachusetts
Copyright © 2014 by Margaret Bird.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.crimsonromance.com
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7038-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7038-4
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7039-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7039-1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © iStockphoto.com/GMVozd
For the arts community in my hometown, Vancouver, Washington.
Acknowledgments
Most of the places and events in Sparked by Love are real. The city of Vancouver, Washington, where I live, does indeed have a huge Fourth of July event every year on the Historic Reserve. Officers’ Row, where Shannon lives, is also real, as is the Land Bridge, built by the Confluence Project and adorned with Native American artist Lillian Pitt’s cast glass masks and sculpture baskets.
However, I have taken liberties with a couple of things: most importantly, I blurred the lines of responsibility for the Fourth of July event by giving an imaginary character an imaginary job and tasks performed by many people over the course of the year before the event. To those people, I apologize and thank them for all their hard work to make this event the highlight of the summer for many of us.
Oh, and I regrew an oak tree on the parade grounds which was cut down some years ago because of disease so Leo would have a place to hang one of his fireworks.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Also Available
Chapter One
Leo Wilson finished fire-polishing his latest glass vessel, maneuvered it out of the heat, and with the help of his studio mate, Giles Kaye, put it into an annealing oven. After the piece had been slowly brought down to room temperature, he’d inspect it and call the collector who’d commissioned the piece to come pick it up. If everything worked out, the sale would give him enough money to squeak through another month.
Leo didn’t miss the scenes his ex-roommate/ex-girlfriend had thrown on a regular basis when she was working her way out of their relationship. In fact, he didn’t miss much about their relationship at all. He did miss having someone to share expenses with, however. The financial pressure he’d been under for the past year or so was getting old. It was obvious he had to sell more art pieces, teach more classes, find a roommate, or take a part-time job. He wasn’t sure which would present a bigger challenge—finding buyers for his work and students for his classes or finding a compatible roomie. A part-time job was possible, but that would give him less time to do his art, which meant fewer pieces to sell. But he was going to have to suck it up and pick one. Soon.
He was closing the door on the oven when Amanda St. Clair, the studio owner, called from her office. “Leo, when you have a chance, there’s something here for you from the City of Vancouver.”
She handed him a business-size envelope with City Hall, Vancouver, Washington as the return address when he got to her desk. “Another parking ticket?” she said. “Your visits to your buddies across the river are getting expensive.”
“Luckily Vancouver’s fines are a hell of a lot cheaper than Portland’s. But I swear I paid the last one. And I haven’t been at Firehouse Glass for a couple months.” He tapped the envelope on the palm of his hand. “Besides, how did they find me here? Before, the reminders came to my house. From DMV records they got from my license plate.”
“You’ll never find out what the letter says by osmosis. You have to read it,” Amanda said, handing him the plastic gadget she used to slice open envelopes. “And this works better than staring at it and hoping it’ll pop out all by itself.”
He ripped through the top of the envelope and read the enclosed letter. “Oh. My. God.” Leo could barely breathe. “Oh. My. God,” he repeated. “I don’t fucking believe this.”
“What? What?” Amanda asked.
“Read this and tell me if I’m hallucinating.” He shoved the letter across the desk at her.
She scanned it then looked up, a huge smile on her face. “Oh, my God, is right, Leo! You got the commission.” She yelled, “Giles, come here. Quick.”
Giles stuck his head into the office. “What’s going on? Did one of you win the lottery or something?”
“Close,” Amanda said, handing him the letter. “Look, Leo landed the grant from Vancouver.”
“The $75,000 one?”
“The very one.”
Although Leo hadn’t taken his eyes off the letter Giles had returned to the desk, he didn’t need to see her to hear the pride in Amanda’s voice. His mother wouldn’t sound any prouder at the news.
“Congratulations, Leo,” Giles said. “This is great.” He clapped his colleague on the back but Leo didn’t respond. “Hey, did we lose you? Are you still on this planet?”
“Not sure,” Leo croaked then cleared his throat. “I never thought this would happen.” He picked up the letter, re-reading it, still not sure he believed the words. “This was such a long shot. I figured my idea was too out there. But, look, they said … ah … where is it?” He ran his finger down the letter to the sentence he was looking for. “Here it is. ‘Your design is bold, creative, and in the spirit of the region’s arts as well as our annual celebration of Independence Day.’”
He didn’t know which to be happy about first—having his art respected or having the financial picture he’d just been worrying about dramatically improved. For the moment, he decided to go with enjoying this chance to exhibit his art—he’d celebrate the money when he saw the first check.
“I’m going to have an art installation millions of people will see,” he said.
“The number’s more like tens of thousands,” Giles said, “but for sure you’ll get attention from the media. They always cover the fireworks at Fort Vancouver like a blanket. Biggest news story every Fourth of July.”
“Don’t rain on my parade, Giles. I’ve never landed anything like this before, and if I want to think there will be millions of people there, let me,” Leo said.
“Well, there’ll be a hell of a traffic jam on the I-5 Bridge if you’re right. But you’ll need more than congratulations to make this happen. If I recall the proposal, it’s pretty complicated. What can I do to help you?”
“Yes, Leo, what do you need from the studio and from us?” Amanda asked.
“Give me a chance to absorb the
news and we’ll talk,” he responded.
Leo made a quick phone call to the Clark County Arts Commission chair, whose name was on the letter, to officially accept the commission and make arrangements for all the paperwork he needed to fill out. Then he took his studio mates up on their offer to strategize. The three artists spent most of the morning planning how to get Leo’s project accomplished. Specifically, how much could be done at the GlassCo studio and how much would have to be done in Vancouver, with his buddies at Firehouse Glass.
It was, as Giles had said, a complicated endeavor. Leo had proposed a large art installation on the grounds of the Historic Reserve where each year, the city of Vancouver, Washington, sponsored a huge party to celebrate the Fourth of July. There was music, art, and entertainment, food vendors and space to stroll around the grounds of an old army fort, now managed by the city. After dark, what was billed as the largest pyrotechnic display west of the Mississippi lit up the night sky. The fireworks could be heard, if not seen, all over the city as well as from the boats on the Columbia River and many parts of Portland, Oregon, which was right across the river from Vancouver.
The display had inspired Leo’s proposal. Instead of a static, in-one-place exhibit of glass, he designed large and small glass fireworks to be installed in the trees and structures around the former parade grounds of the base where the crowds picnicked while they waited for the after-dark fireworks display.
Each burst would be made of slender tubes of glass in various sizes, shapes, and colors and would require careful installation to connect the pieces in the correct manner and secure them into place. Floodlit from below, Leo’s fireworks would “go off” all evening as a computer controlling the lights would turn them off and on to simulate the moment when the shells burst into spectacular designs in the sky.
The project was large. It was complicated. It was expensive. And it was what Leo hoped would get his work the attention he’d been struggling for his whole career.
All he had to do was get a couple permits from the City of Vancouver, and he would be on his way. How hard could it be to get a couple of permits?
• • •
Three months later, Leo was at Firehouse Glass in Vancouver where he was creating some of the pieces for the display. The only official paper he had from the City of Vancouver were more parking tickets from his hours of working with his glass blower friends and forgetting to plug the meter.
Today they’d gotten the last of the pieces for one of the smaller fireworks completed and had spent the time they were working sympathizing with Leo about his difficulty getting the appropriate permissions.
“I mean, it’s not like I’m misting the crowds with toxic waste, or endangering salmon or something. All I want to do is put up an art installation,” he griped as he brought a gather of glass out of the glory hole. His attention was diverted to the job at hand for the next bit of time, but when the piece was shaped and in the kiln, he returned to his venting about the city.
“Have you guys had trouble with them about permits and things?” he asked.
Frank Steward, a longtime friend and colleague, shook his head. “No, but then we’ve never done anything more complex than be part of a team putting up a piece of public art in a city park. It’s more complicated in the Reserve. Part of the property is managed by the city and there’s National Park land involved in the visitor center and down near the recreated old fort. And there’s a trust involved somehow, but I’m not sure how. It’s kind of a special deal.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if I’d known how difficult it would be to get the damn permits, I’d have thought twice about submitting my proposal,” Leo said. “This woman who works for the city, this Shannon Morgan, is driving me nuts. She’s supposed to be helping me get this done, but she puts up hurdles to keep me from accomplishing anything faster than I can jump over them. Everything I propose gets one of two responses: “no” or “not possible.” They’re the only words she knows. So far, she’s turned down my request for some help from the city to install the glass, refused to get me a permit for the lighting, isn’t sure if I can have access to the site early in the week before the Fourth to get the pieces up, and she’s wavering about letting me use some of the sites I picked out but won’t tell me why. She’s a pain in the butt.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Of course I’ve talked to her. At least weekly for three months.” Leo was indignant Frank would think he hadn’t pursued this vigorously.
“I know you’ve communicated with her. I meant have you talked to her. You know, used your legendary skills with women to persuade her. Up close and in person.” His buddy leered at him.
“Yeah, right. Legendary skills. You mean the ones getting rusty from lack of use since Cathy bailed on me?” Leo pursed his mouth and frowned. “But you might have hit on something. If I can’t convince her with logic on the phone and in email, maybe I can dazzle her with bullshit in person. I’ve always had luck impressing the mothers of the women I date so maybe … ”
“How do you know she’s your mother’s age?”
“I don’t know for sure. But she fusses at what I want to do and tries to tell me what I can’t do like my mom does. I mean, I already have one mother, and I love her. If I need a lecture, I can call her. I don’t need a city employee filling in for her.”
“Make an appointment with this Shannon Morgan. Show her what you’re doing. Buy her lunch or something. Butter her up. Maybe you can soften her crustiness.”
Leo thought about his friend’s suggestion for a minute. “You’re right. I need to see this woman in person to size her up. But no appointment. I want the element of surprise on my side. I’ll go over to city hall right now. I have the design specs in the truck. I’ve got images on my phone of some of my other installations. I’ll show her what I’m doing and see if it makes a difference.”
Chapter Two
It was another crappy day for Shannon Morgan. She knew when she took the job as the community relations and public involvement coordinator for the city of Vancouver she’d have problems—and problem people—to deal with. That was practically the job description of community relations. But she hadn’t expected her biggest problem would be Andy Larson, the boss from hell. The entire population of Vancouver gave her less trouble than he did. And all because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
He’d been fine at first, even helpful, if a bit creepy in his attention, standing too close when he talked to her, hanging over her shoulder when she was sitting at her desk. He’d asked her out for drinks a couple times to talk about work where they weren’t distracted by what was going on around them. She’d politely said no every time and eventually the invitations stopped. Shannon had congratulated herself on putting an end to his unusual notice of her without hurting his feelings. However, when the annual bloodletting known as budget preparation began, Randy Andy proved her wrong. She wasn’t home free.
Pressure from City Council to cut expenses was always part of the budget cycle, which meant almost everyone’s job was on the chopping block each year. However, it was not part of the normal cycle to have your boss looking at your job the way a boa constrictor looks at a mouse. Shannon didn’t figure it out at first because she was knee-deep in public meetings. But eventually, she was let in on the secret: the only way he could keep from cutting the job of the woman who had succumbed to his attentions as well as punish someone who hadn’t, was to eliminate Shannon’s job. Randy Andy was now after her, big time, but in a different way.
The temptation to rat Larson out to his wife was great. Better to be a rat who blabbed than a mouse who was lunch. Except it probably wouldn’t save her job, although it would feel good. Maybe. In the end Shannon didn’t make the call. Instead, she worked harder and harder, hoping to prove she was too valuable to lose.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working. Larson had reamed her out at the staff meeting again today like he’d been doing every week for a month because she hadn’
t gotten her July Fourth assignments taken care of. It was wearing on her. Particularly since she’d been saddled with one of the least important—as far as she was concerned—parts of the Fourth of July event and the one making it very, very difficult to get things taken care of. She suspected her boss had assigned her to manage some flaky artist so she could fail. Then Randy Andy would ride to the rescue, proving he didn’t need a community relations liaison, and have the justification he wanted to eliminate her position.
And the way things were going it wasn’t too hard to see how she could fail. Her boss had told her little about the art project she’d been assigned to facilitate other than this guy wanted to hang glass around the parade grounds in the Historic Reserve. No matter how many times she asked for it, she’d never seen the proposal the artist—Leo Wilson was his name—had made to the Community Foundation, although rumor had it, he’d gotten a boatload of money from them to finance it. She doubted that people who were at the event for the music and the fireworks would pay much attention to some arty-farty display, no matter what it looked like. But she had to make it work regardless of her opinion.
It wasn’t easy. Apparently the artist thought having the grant meant she was to say “yes” to any demand he made because he was such an important artiste, and everyone should kowtow to him. He didn’t understand she had already simplified the process at the request of the County Arts Commission to the point where, if she did much more trimming of requirements, she’d piss off a whole lot of people from this Washington to the one in the District of Columbia because she’d skirted one too many of the convoluted local, state, and federal regulations governing the Reserve.
It made her brain explode to think about it. First, this guy told her he wanted to hang glass—glass, mind you—from places like the bandstand where dozens of groups would be performing off and on all day. Not that he seemed to care if he put people at risk with the stupid glass. And her in danger of being reprimanded for allowing it.