She seemed to recognize that step for what it was. He was removing himself from temptation. She looked flustered, but she quickly recovered. “All right. I’ll let you video me before you leave. But that means extra cinnamon rolls for you.”
He laughed. “You’ve got a deal. Did you eat lunch yet?”
“No. I’ve been occupied trying to do this,” she said with a frown.
“Do you have guests to take care of?”
“Only you,” she joked. “The Warners are out for the day.”
“Since you look so pretty all dressed up, how would you like to go out to lunch?”
His offer took her by surprise. “Oh, I don’t know.”
Although he knew he shouldn’t—for so many reasons—he pushed. “I passed an outside café on my way back here. It looked nice. We could sit outside and enjoy the pretty day. I mean, really, how long has it been since you were out to lunch?”
“It has been a while. I usually just grab something in between errands or B&B business or art lessons.”
“Then let’s go. You can tell me again why you’d like to be a teacher rather than an artist.”
* * *
A short time later, as Cassie and Nash walked down the street, she was totally aware of him. He was wearing his boots, jeans, a tan polo shirt, and of course, the black Stetson. Even in the polo shirt, she could see the muscles in his arms. Maybe financial consultants worked out. That would explain it. She didn’t know what else would. Good genes?
Sometimes, the way he questioned her, he reminded her of a lawyer. But she supposed financial consultants had to ask questions, too. They had to get to know their clients, their needs and wants, their intentions for the future. So he was practiced at asking questions, she supposed. They must also practice not talking about themselves.
Now she looked over at him. “What did you really think about the Paint and Sip party?”
“What do you mean—what did I really think?”
“Does it serve a purpose, fill a need, or is it just a money-making scheme?”
He took a few seconds to think about it. But then he decided, “Everyone needs a job, Cassie, and they need to pay the bills. Using your talent to do that isn’t a bad thing.”
She’d never really had a moral compass in her parents, certainly not in her mother. She supposed she’d always looked toward her church and her priest for answers, and she found most of them there.
She could feel Nash studying her as they walked, the spring breeze blowing her dress against her legs.
“I’ll tell you what I think of it,” he said.
She braced herself for the worst.
“I think everyone needs a creative outlet. It could be writing in a journal. It could be building sandcastles. For you, it’s painting. At the Paint and Sip, you shared that gift with everyone else. Do I think it’s a little manufactured? Maybe. After all, don’t some of your paintings take a week to do, not just one night?”
“Make that weeks, sometimes.”
“Exactly. But what you’re doing is teaching a technique. Beginners like immediate gratification. That’s what you’re giving them. And if they sip wine and enjoy themselves along the way, what’s wrong with that?”
“I suppose nothing. But if I get a teaching position, I think that’s one of the first things I’d drop. I’d want to keep volunteering at the art center and maybe give private lessons.”
“You want to teach children to be true artists rather than teaching kids the techniques just to finish a painting.”
“Yes. I want to teach them about techniques and the Masters, and the great museums.”
“And I imagine you’ll be a terrific teacher.”
She didn’t have to comment because they’d reached the outdoor café. Green-and-white-striped awnings covered the outside seating area. They migrated to a table that was near a wall and Nash pulled a chair out for her. She’d never had anybody do that before. As she sat and he pushed her in, she glanced over her shoulder. His face was very close to hers. In fact, her cheek brushed the rim of his hat.
“I’ll get rid of this,” he said, and went to hang his Stetson on one of the hat pegs tacked on the outside wall. She watched him as he ran his hand through his hair a few times.
After he sat across from her, he smiled. “The reason cowboys never take off their hats is that their hair’s a mess underneath.”
She broke into a genuine laugh. “So you’re not a real cowboy?”
“I’m not even half a cowboy. I just enjoy boots, jeans and a good Stetson. You know, men wear them even in Oklahoma. In fact, as I was growing up, I thought ball caps and Stetsons were the only two kinds of hats there were for men.”
“Are you serious or are you pulling my leg?”
“I’m very serious. Ever been to Oklahoma?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been out of Texas.”
He cocked his head and studied her again.
Breaking eye contact, she watched the passersby. Nash did, too. Their waiter came to take their order. Nash chose the roast beef panini with caramelized onions while she chose the turkey club sandwich.
“Order whatever you want,” Nash said. “I’m paying.”
“No, you’re not,” she protested. “We’re going Dutch or we don’t get lunch.”
They stared at each other for a few seconds until the waiter looked at Cassie. “Would you like to order something else?”
“No, just the club and a glass of lemonade.”
“Coming up shortly,” the waiter said and went inside.
“You can be a tough cookie when you want to be,” Nash admitted with some surprise.
“Not used to women who stand up for themselves?” she asked with a grin.
“Oh, you wound me! Of course I like women who stand up for themselves. I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with any other kind. Guessing what the other person is thinking doesn’t make for good communication.”
“You’ve had that problem?”
“Could be,” Nash answered enigmatically.
He’d done it again. He’d shut down a perfectly good conversation. Silence dropped between them for a few minutes until Cassie bumped Nash’s elbow. “See that man walking along the street?”
Nash looked the way Cassie’s chin was pointed. She thought she saw a flicker of something in Nash’s eyes but it was gone faster than she’d imagined it.
“Are you just showing me a representative Texas cowboy?” he asked.
“No.” She kept her voice low. “That’s Nate Fortune.”
Nate definitely was eye candy for anybody looking his way. He was over six feet tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes.
She noticed Nash studying Nate Fortune. His next words sounded as if he’d chosen them carefully. “I think the Fortune family has made every newspaper in big cities and every blog on the internet. Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be connected to a family like the Fortunes? Do they really have brotherly and sisterly relationships? Or is everything they do cutthroat, for business’s sake?”
“They’re a dynasty in themselves,” Cassie responded. “I should hope among all those relatives there would be some strong connections. I would have loved to have a brother or sister. How about you? Do you have siblings?”
He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
“Were you lonely as a boy?”
Nash shrugged. She thought he was going to shut down this conversation, too. Instead, his gaze met hers and he answered her. “Some of the time I was lonely, but most of the time I was too busy to be lonely. I got jobs wherever I could find them to help my mom make ends meet.”
Cassie wanted to tell him that she’d done that, too, but she didn’t want to get into that subject, because he thought her parents were dead. If she never really told h
im her story, would she ever really get to know his?
* * *
A few hours later, Nash wasn’t sure why he was calling his friend in Oklahoma. Maybe Cassie pointing out Nate Fortune had unsettled him. He had to watch not only his words but his actions around her. Because of his research at the library, he’d recognized Nate Fortune. Nate had been one of the family pictured at the Valentine’s Day party at the Mendoza Winery. Nash had an almost photographic memory, especially when it came to faces. That helped in his investigations.
He scrolled through his contacts and called Dave. He hoped his former partner was off shift. He and Dave Preston had gone to the Police Academy together and risen up through the ranks. When Cassie had asked him if he’d ever wanted a brother, he’d thought of Dave. His friend was the closest thing to a brother he’d ever get.
“Is this good news or bad news?” Dave asked when he answered.
“Maybe it’s no news,” Nash replied. “Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice. You know, a taste of home and all that.”
“You haven’t called Oklahoma home for a while now, even though your mom wants you to.”
Nash sighed. “I know that. How’s she doing? She’s always cheery when I call her but I don’t know if that’s the truth.”
“She misses you.”
“She also misses the future I was planning on having, the one that would give her grandkids.”
“You sound as if it’s never going to happen.”
Nash immediately thought of Cassie. But he answered his friend with, “Probably not.”
Changing the subject, Dave asked, “So what have you found in your research?” Dave was the only one besides Nash’s mother who knew what he was about here in Austin.
“Nothing yet that has led anywhere, but I’m still curious how these people live.”
“‘These people?’ You mean your relatives?”
“They’re not my relatives, Dave.”
“You know what they say—blood is thicker than water.”
Nash retorted, “And I say if you haven’t known them as family all your life, they’re not family.”
Dave continued to disagree. “Open your mind a little, Nash. You might like one or two of them.”
Nash thought about Chase Parker, who owned the horse rescue ranch, and his wife, Lucie, who was a Fortune. He remembered what he’d found about her helping kids. Was that all just PR? He also remembered her sister Amelia’s husband was a rancher. But those were two of the female Fortunes. As far as the men went, he just didn’t know.
“One thing I’ve learned, or I guess I’ve verified, is that Gerald Robinson was unethical, indiscriminate and generally someone I don’t want to know.”
“What if you came face-to-face with him?” Dave asked.
“It’s not going to happen. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Are you planning on staying in Austin longer than a month?” Dave asked.
“Not unless I want to quit my job.”
“With your résumé, I’m sure you could get a job in Austin if you wanted it. Think how much easier it would be to investigate the Fortunes.”
“Okay, now you’re mocking me. I’m going to end this call.”
“I’m serious about the job, Nash. If you feel you have to be there, maybe a move wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
Nash thought about Cassie again. Her life was here. “I’m just taking it day by day. One leads to the next.”
“And what’s next?” Dave inquired.
“A drive around some of the Fortune addresses. I want to see how they live.”
“How’s that going to help you?”
“Call it curiosity. Maybe my eyes need a break from the computer. Besides, you know how stakeouts go. You never know what will turn up.”
“No, you never know,” Dave agreed. “Be careful, Nash. Nobody knows you’re there but me and your mom.”
“And the two of you need to stop worrying. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast would send out an alarm if I don’t come back.”
“She had a pretty voice.”
Before Nash could stop himself, he said, “She is pretty.”
Dave’s silence met that remark, and Nash didn’t intend to elaborate on it.
“I meant it when I said to be careful, Nash, and I’m not only talking about physically. You could end up in the middle of family you don’t want to meet. They might not like another relative turning up. And as far as the pretty voice and the pretty face of the owner of the Bluebonnet Bed-and-Breakfast...”
“I’ve got to go, Dave. I’ll check in again next week.”
“I’m counting on it.”
When Nash ended the call, he had to smile. Dave could be irritating at times, but Nash wouldn’t want to go through life without him. His friend was right about one thing, though—he did need to be careful...with both the Fortunes and with Cassie.
Chapter Five
It was 5 a.m. on Sunday when Nash awakened, not exactly sure why. Then he realized that he’d heard the pipes creaking. It was coming from the downstairs bathroom.
He guessed Cassie was taking a shower. No, he was not going to think about that too long. Punching his pillow and closing his eyes again, he wondered why she was getting up so early. She didn’t serve breakfast until 8 a.m. He considered the idea that maybe she just wanted to get up and paint. Then why take a shower?
After another half hour of tossing and turning, he figured he might as well just get dressed and go downstairs and find out what Cassie was up to. Once on the first floor, his nose twitched. He smelled dough of some kind. Checking the kitchen, he didn’t find Cassie but rather two huge ceramic bowls covered by towels.
He peeked under one of them. Yeast bread. It would probably take some time for it to rise.
Instinct made him go to the front door and look out. He spotted Cassie walking about half a block down the street. Not knowing what he intended to do, he decided to follow her. Maybe the investigator in him just needed something to investigate other than old photographs and news stories.
He hadn’t tailed anyone for a long time, and he didn’t know if he should be doing it now. But he was curious.
He didn’t have to be curious for long. He was thirty yards behind Cassie when he saw her stop and then go up the steps of a church. Did he really want to follow her there? It would certainly bring back memories.
Once he reached the steps himself, he climbed them, then opened one of the wooden doors that led into the Church of the Good Shepherd.
In the narthex the doors were propped open, leading into the nave of the church. Straight ahead, hanging behind the altar, was a lifelike statue of the Good Shepherd. On the left in the rainbow light of a stained glass window was a statue of Mary and a rack of candles beneath her. In the sparsely populated church, he caught sight of Cassie about three rows back from the altar. Nash found himself slipping into one of the back pews, blessing himself, remembering his childhood.
The Mass was a ritual he hadn’t been part of in a long time, but he found he still knew when to stand and sit and when to kneel. The homily was short, probably because this was such an early Mass and the priest knew everyone had somewhere to go.
At the end of the Mass, Nash wasn’t sure whether to slip out so Cassie didn’t know he’d ever been there, or to stay put and wait until she left. If she noticed him, well, then she noticed him.
It didn’t take long for the church to empty. Nash spotted Cassie still sitting in her pew. He decided not to be secretive about this, at least. Walking up the side aisle, he slid into the pew with her.
She glanced at him and her eyes widened in surprise. She asked, “Were you here for Mass?”
“I was.” He didn’t feel a need to give an explanation.
“You’re Catholic?”
“Lapsed,” he said with a shrug.
“My mother took me to church during my childhood, and I went to Catholic school until eighth grade. Then I went to a public high school.”
If he was any reader of thoughts, he saw a myriad of expressions flit over Cassie’s face. The main one—surprise he was telling her this.
“Why did you stop going?” she asked.
“You know how teenagers are,” he said. “They question everything.”
“I questioned,” she empathized. “But—” She hesitated for a moment. “But when things in my life were tough, I gravitated back toward my faith.”
“My mother wished I had done that.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He didn’t see any harm in telling her. He wouldn’t be revealing anything. “I had a father who let’s just say wasn’t the best guy. He left my mother high and dry. I never knew him. That didn’t seem to bother me so much when I was a kid but when I was a teenager, when friends were going on fishing trips with their dads or camping or working on school projects together, anger set in. That anger just seemed to be at odds with faith.”
“And now?”
“I guess I just got out of the habit of believing. Life and my job, especially, just seemed to take all my attention.”
After they sat there awhile longer in silence, Cassie said, “I really have to get back or the bread dough I prepared will proof too much. But I’d like to light a candle first. You don’t have to stay.”
“I’ll wait,” he said, actually looking forward to walking her back to the bed-and-breakfast.
Cassie had worn a peasant blouse with three-quarter sleeves and a skirt that flowed to her calves. Her flats were soundless on the tile floor as she slipped by him out of the pew and walked up to light a candle. After kneeling at the statue for a minute or so—long enough to say a prayer, Nash guessed—she stood and walked back to the pew.
He rose to his feet and met her at the aisle. Together they walked out. The blues, yellows and reds from the stained glass windows flickered across Cassie’s face as they walked down the aisle. Her hair swung against her neck and Nash was struck again by her vulnerability. Did she seem more vulnerable this morning because they were in church?
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