“Wow! That makes me wonder about the kind of men you date.” With a brow arched, he leaned his hip against the counter, looking relaxed...and too sexy for words.
His comment was bait and she understood that. He was trying to find out something about her. “Date? I don’t have time for dating,” she explained, keeping her reason light and short.
“A busy life. I can certainly see that. I can’t believe you run the B&B and still have time to take on art students...and volunteer somewhere. Let alone your winery nights.”
Because of his comment, Cassie could tell he had been thinking about what she’d told him. Why? “You have a good memory.”
“Only when I’m interested.”
He had to mean interested in the conversation, right? He wasn’t even from Austin. He couldn’t be interested in her.
Nash quickly opened the dishwasher and began loading the dishes inside. “I would help my mom with things around the house. I’m sure you did with your mom, too.”
Cassie just nodded but didn’t say anything else.
Nash gave her a sideways look.
Still, she kept silent. Too many memories of her taking care of the cooking and the dishes and everything else, while her mom drank herself into oblivion, played unbidden on her mental screen. Thoughts of her mother were frequent still. Her mother didn’t want to see her or hear from her...not while she was in prison. Every day Cassie hoped that where her mother lived now, she might not have any choice but to find help and detox.
Her thoughts were cut off as Nash straightened and she realized how close they were standing to each other. She passed him a plate. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. There was heat...not only in her fingers. And when she looked up into his eyes, there seemed to be sparks there that ignited sparks in her. He was a guest. He’d be leaving at the end of April. She couldn’t even think about sparks...and kissing—
Kissing? Where had that come from?
She turned away from him, picked up a dish towel and began wiping crumbs from the counter into her hand.
Nash asked lightly, “Anything else I can help with?” His deep voice seemed to affect her as much as his touch. But she wasn’t a coward, so she turned to face him. “Nope. Nothing else.”
Their gazes collided again for at least three heartbeats. Then he nodded and went to collect his hat that was still on the sideboard. He carried it with him to the stairway, but then he said to her, “Good night. Sleep well.”
Before she could return the sentiment, he was up the stairs and gone. Had she imagined the chemistry between them?
Feeling as if she’d been caught in a whirlwind, she added detergent to the dishwasher and started it. She just needed a good night’s sleep. That was all. She’d go to bed, close her eyes and forget all about Nash Tremont.
* * *
When Nash returned to the bed-and-breakfast the next day, it was almost lunchtime. He’d taken the morning off from doing research to drive around Austin to check out where the Fortunes’ and Robinsons’ influence could be seen. He’d also gotten a better handle on the city—the neighborhoods and the housing divisions. He had even driven around the college. Midmorning he’d found a leather goods shop and bought himself a pair of black dress boots. He’d also stopped at a men’s store and purchased a sports jacket. That way, if he wanted to give Cassie the impression he was meeting a client, he’d fit the part better.
The part. He didn’t know why it bothered him to play a part with Cassie, but it did.
The front door to the B&B was open and the screen door was allowing the spring air to flow in. As soon as Nash stepped inside, he heard a child’s laughter. He liked kids. His old friend in Oklahoma—the one who had given Cassie a good reference—had three. He’d been to barbecues and Super Bowl parties with some of the guys at work. They had kids, too. Sometimes Nash liked the children even better than the adults.
Following the sound of childish chatter, as well as Cassie’s voice, he crossed the dining area and passed the kitchen to the screened-in porch. There was an easel set up there with a chair in front of it. Cassie was sitting on a second chair beside a little girl who looked to be about eight. The girl’s blond braids swung every time she turned toward Cassie.
Apparently hearing him approach the sliding glass door that was open today, Cassie spotted him peering through the screen. “Hi!” she said. “You’re back.”
Opening the screen and stepping inside the porch, he answered her. “Just for a little while. Then I’ll be going out again. You’re giving an art lesson?”
She motioned him to come farther inside.
He didn’t move. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not,” she assured him.
As he crossed to the area where Cassie and the child sat, the little girl turned around to face him. He noticed a child-sized cane propped against the wall. He raised questioning eyes to Cassie.
“Lydia, I want you to meet Nash. He’s one of my guests here. Nash, this is Lydia.”
“Hi, Lydia,” he said easily. “Do you mind if I look at your painting?”
She gave a shy shrug and a smile, so he took that as a yes. Leaning down, he studied the picture of a Ferris wheel that was painted in bright colors and drawn with enough detail that he could see each seat. She’d painted people in the seats and she’d done a fairly good job of it, mostly drawing profiles. He wasn’t sure he could do half as well.
“You have a terrific painting there. Did you ride on a Ferris wheel?” he asked.
This time Lydia grinned. “Mommy and Daddy took me to a carnival. I rode a pony, too.”
“We’re going to save horses for the next art lesson,” Cassie confided. To Nash, she asked, “Have you eaten lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“There are leftovers in the fridge.”
“I’m going out again,” he explained, ad-libbing.
“If you need a snack later, there’s plenty. I didn’t know if the Warners might be coming back for lunch and I wanted to provide something if they did.” She frowned. “I had another cancellation.”
With that declaration, Cassie looked and sounded worried.
Lydia had begun painting again, as if their conversation was of no consequence to her. He asked the little girl, “Do you mind if I sit and watch for a while?”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I guess you wonder why I’m not in school today.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“My teachers had a meeting. Mommy had to work this morning. Cassie said she could give me a lesson, so Mommy’s going to pick me up in a little while.”
“You’re lucky you could do this today.”
“Yes, I am,” Lydia agreed, bobbing her head and making her braids fly again.
Cassie suggested, “If you paint a fence around the Ferris wheel, it will ground it. Anybody looking at the painting will be able to tell the difference from the ground to the tippy top of the Ferris wheel.”
Lydia nodded and went at it. “I’m going to mix two colors of brown for the fence.”
Cassie squirted sienna and burnt umber on the palette. “See if you like those.”
Fascinated by the process—and Cassie—Nash watched for the next half hour. Cassie was so patient with Lydia. Finally, he returned to the subject that seemed to have Cassie worried. He asked in a low voice, “Will it be a problem for you with another guest canceling?”
“I think I can make up the difference this month with the Paint and Sip party...if it’s well attended. I have one coming up at the Mendoza Winery.”
The winery was one of the Austin landmarks he’d noted. “I saw it today when I was driving around Austin.”
He had driven around the Mendoza vineyard with its large acreage of grapevines. He’d discovered the winery had two offices—a small one at the edge of the vineya
rd and a larger corporate headquarters with its distribution center in Austin proper. Nash remembered he’d read somewhere that the winery had originally been named Hummingbird Ridge.
In spite of himself, he could imagine going to the tasting room with Cassie and sipping wine with her. He shook his head to erase the pictures from his mind. An attraction to her shouldn’t even be an issue right now. He wasn’t sitting that close to her because Lydia was between them. But he thought he could catch the scent of a flowery perfume. And Cassie’s hair was so bright and shiny...and soft-looking. When she smiled, she had dimples. And there were freckles running across both of her cheeks. She was a tempting woman in so many ways. So many ways he was going to ignore.
Finally, Lydia was finished with her painting.
“Is she using acrylics?” Nash asked.
“They’re so much easier for the children. As they become true artists, though, they can’t mix them as well as they could oil paints. Some want to try watercolors, but using watercolors is its own art form—from the way you use the water to the texture of the paper.”
“I can understand,” Nash said, because he could. “More elements to deal with from the water spreading, the way the paper absorbs it, to the thinness of the brush.”
The doorbell ringing suddenly interrupted their conversation. Lydia hopped up from her chair with her painting in hand. “I bet that’s Mommy.”
“I bet it is, too. Be careful with your painting.”
Cassie opened the sliding screen door for Lydia. The little girl grabbed her cane and, as fast as she could, went to greet her mom.
“Why is she using a cane?” Nash whispered close to Cassie’s ear. It was her shampoo he was smelling. And as his jaw brushed the side of her hair, he realized it was as soft as he imagined. Thoughts about kissing her were getting harder and harder to push away.
“She was in an accident riding her bike. She wasn’t supposed to go onto a main street, but she did. A car sideswiped her. Fortunately, she was wearing a helmet and knee guards. That was three months ago. And she’s just getting back on her feet. Her mom started bringing her to art lessons right after the accident. Lydia needed an outlet for all of her energy. Her mother had taken notice of her drawings at school, and she thought it would be a good idea. And it was. She’s talented.”
“It’s bad enough when adults have to deal with disabilities, but kids—” Nash shook his head.
As Cassie gazed into his eyes, he felt that connection with her again. It was hard to believe he’d only known her a few days, yet his pulse was beating fast.
Quickly, she turned away from him, took a few steps back and said, “I have to say goodbye to Lydia’s mother.”
In case Cassie had something private to say to Lydia’s mother or vice versa, Nash stayed on the porch, waiting for Cassie. When she returned there to clean up the paints, Nash said, “Will you show me your paintings?”
She hesitated for a few moments. “I suppose I can. The attic is my studio. It would have been too difficult to make it into another bedroom for the B&B. But it is the perfect place for a studio. Come on. I’ll show you.”
As Nash followed Cassie up the staircase, he wasn’t sure exactly why he wanted to see her paintings. Maybe because he thought they’d give him a glimpse into who she really was. Was she as sweet and caring as she seemed? Or was it an act because she was the hostess of the bed-and-breakfast? Hard to say. But he was an investigator, so he was going to investigate.
Cassie ran up the stairs ahead of him. When she reached the second floor, she waved down the hall and pointed to the rope that hung from the ceiling. She reached up and grabbed it and pulled down a staircase. The steps were narrow.
Nash commented, “This isn’t exactly ideal working conditions if you want to carry paintings up and down.”
“Do you know any situation that’s really ideal?” Cassie asked as if she’d had a lot of experience dealing with curveballs life threw at her.
He knew exactly what she meant. People had expectations and what they envisioned rarely came to pass. At least, not without some adjustment.
Cassie wasn’t as naive as he’d first thought she might be. It took years and life experience to know that nothing was perfect, that you couldn’t wait around for it to be perfect. Just like his relationship with Sara. He hadn’t realized until too late that it was never going to work...that in fact it was a lost cause.
After he’d climbed the stairs behind Cassie, Nash glanced around the attic. Light streamed in windows from both sides. Cassie had an easel set up with a drop cloth underneath much as she had downstairs on the porch. Only this easel was taller and wider, and it had a half-finished painting propped on it.
Before Nash studied that painting, he looked around at the others propped against the walls. The canvases were lined up, some overlapping. The colors were very much like the ones Cassie had chosen to use in the house. They were vibrant, with hot pinks and yellows and lime green, teal and even orange. And with those colors she’d captured her subjects beautifully—a hummingbird at a feeder, bluebonnets in a field with a child sitting with her back to the viewer, her blond hair blowing in the wind. Another one showcased an abstract cat, black and white against a sky-blue background. She’d also painted buildings that were a little more muted, a red barn and corral, a ramshackle house sitting in the woods, a blackbird sitting on a white fence. He could tell she was practicing styles, trying to find her own. Finally, his gaze fell to the canvas on the easel. This one was different from the others. Done mostly in pastels, it depicted an angel hovering over a child who was sitting on the grass reading a book. If it was up to Nash, he’d say that was her best work yet.
“How long did it take you to do these?” The creative process really did interest him.
“The past two years,” she said. “I sell them when I can. Art shows are the best, but I often don’t have time to give up a whole weekend for that.”
“You’re talented.” It wasn’t idle flattery. He meant it.
“Talent doesn’t always pay the bills,” she said, obviously being realistic about it. That was probably why she wanted to teach—for the consistent income.
Cassie was standing in front of the easel and he crossed to stand beside her. “I think that’s the best one.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Not the barn or the landscape outside of Austin?”
“Those are good,” he conceded. “And if I had a den I’d probably hang them there. But aren’t paintings supposed to evoke emotions?”
She pushed her hair away from her brow. “I’m surprised you know that.”
“Because I’m a financial consultant?” he teased.
She shrugged. “Something like that. I mean, most people don’t even know that that’s why they choose a particular painting. I think art customers buy the paintings they do because that particular work resurrects a memory or a feeling they once had...or a feeling they want to have now.”
Again, Nash was surprised at her insight.
“What?” she asked when she saw him studying her.
“You just surprise me, that’s all.”
They were standing very close now, facing each other. He could easily reach out and touch one of the waves of her hair that flowed near her cheek. He was so tempted to lean in a bit to see what she would do. But he knew he was playing with fire. He knew he was being foolish, and she must have known it, too.
Suddenly she took a step back.
But he wouldn’t let her escape just yet. “Are you sorry you brought me up here?”
“No, not sorry...” she trailed off, her voice a bit breathless.
He felt as if Cassie and her paintings had taken his breath away. “What then?”
In the afternoon light glowing through the window behind her, she looked vulnerable. “I don’t often show my work to just anybody.”
“You m
ean to a relative stranger?” he countered.
“Exactly.”
A knowing came to him so swiftly that words came out of his mouth that he didn’t expect. “After a few more days, I won’t be a stranger, will I?”
“Maybe not,” she murmured, then took another step back. “I have to make a grocery run and then prepare something for supper.”
“And I have a meeting,” he said, deciding if he was a financial consultant, he should meet with a client or two or three. After all, he now had boots to wear with a Western-cut jacket.
He motioned toward the stairs. “After you.”
Once they were both on the second floor again and the stairs had been raised into the ceiling, he said, “So...I’ll see you later. I have a few things I have to bring in from my SUV.” He headed off down the hall, grateful he’d found a way to exit.
Because he’d almost done exactly what he knew he shouldn’t. He’d almost kissed her.
* * *
Cassie was in the kitchen making a list of the groceries she’d need, trying not to think of her time with Nash in the attic. Just what had that been about? She’d felt such a pull toward him. He’d even seemed to understand her paintings. Unless that was an act...unless he was a player.
However, she didn’t think so. She wasn’t getting that vibe from him at all. Still, what did she know? It wasn’t as if she had dated very much.
Almost finished with her list, she heard Nash’s boots on the stairs. When he reached the first floor she glanced up and her heart beat in double time. He was wearing a Western-cut suit jacket, black dress jeans, white shirt and bolo tie. In his hands, he held his Stetson. He looked fantastic.
He turned toward her and smiled. “I thought you’d be out the door.”
Because she’d run away from him so fast? She waved to the list on the counter. “I need to make sure I have everything written down that I need so I don’t forget anything. Trips to the grocery store take too much time, and I don’t want to be running there more than I have to.”
Fortune's Family Secrets Page 3