No, putting the weight of this problem on her sister would be the coward’s way out. Why ruin her happiness if there was a chance that this was all a paranoid conspiracy theory hatched up by Alethea?
Alethea. The mere mention of her friend’s name would be enough for Abby to dismiss any allegations unless there was hard proof of wrongdoing.
Abby had never made a secret that she disapproved of her best friend. She didn’t liked that Alethea had been booted out of every private school before her parents had sent her to public school as a punishment–a punishment Alethea had embraced.
Born to an upper class family, Alethea had no fear of authority and she had the resources to defy them. Abby had spent many nights attempting to explain the danger in the differences between their situations to Lil, but Lil had refused to listen to her. Yes, Alethea broke the rules sometimes merely for the rush of doing it and some of her ideas had landed Lil in some sticky situations but a friend isn’t someone who never makes mistakes. A friend is someone who loves you right through the ones you make yourself.
And Alethea always had.
It had been Alethea she’d called the night Dirk had walked away from her, Alethea who had convinced her to eat if only for the sake of the baby growing within her and had bolstered her confidence enough to tell Abby she was pregnant.
Looking back now, Abby hadn’t said anything wrong when she finally had told her; she just hadn’t said what Lil had yearned to hear–that she loved her and that they would get through it together. No, instead, she had talked about getting health insurance, finding a good doctor, and starting prenatal care immediately.
All very good advice.
And maybe the only way Abby knew how to deal with the unexpected. She’d had to be strong for so long, maybe she’d forgotten how to share a moment of weakness.
It hadn’t been with malice that Lil had chosen Alethea to bring to her first ultrasound and to invite to be her Lamaze partner. As much as she’d known that Abby had been hurt by the decision, it had also been Alethea she’d chosen to be with her in the delivery room. Things had become so bad between her and Abby by then that they’d barely been speaking; neither knowing quite how to remedy the situation or if it was even worth trying to.
Lil had considered explaining her choices to Abby, but none of her explanations would have improved the situation. The simple fact was that birthing someone had been full-on scary to Lil and she’d wanted someone at her side who could overlook any weakness she might reveal in the process.
So, Colby had been held first by a friend and then by her aunt; something Abby hadn’t yet forgiven Alethea for, not even as her happiness with Dominic had spilled outward and given them a second chance at sisterhood.
With motherhood had come the humility to recognize that Abby was not the only flawed member of their tiny family. Abby had always been there for her even if it hadn’t been the way Lil would have liked, but Lil hadn’t returned the favor. Beneath her tough exterior, Lil acknowledged that insecurities had driven some of her–oh, hell, many of her actions.
But wasn’t that what a new day provided?
A chance to begin again?
She was going to become the sister she should have always been. This time she was going to rescue Abby.
Chapter Eleven
Jake Walton in a suit was sexy enough, but the man who had shown up in khaki shorts and a blue polo shirt took Lil’s breath away. His shorts stopped mid-thigh, long enough to be fashionable, but short enough to remind Lil of what he had looked like with much less on.
Lil looked away.
Better decisions could only come from gaining some control over her libido. Seriously, Jake was just another man. An incredibly gorgeous, sexually talented, inspiration-for-dreams-you-don’t-want-to-wake-up-from man, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep a clear head today.
Lil snuck another quick perusal
Damn.
Dressed in a simple brown cotton skirt, light green blouse and sandals, Lil was determined that their day together would stay as tame as the clothing she’d chosen. She bent to place her daughter in the car seat. “Come on in,” she said as she collected the necessary supplies for the day. “We’re ready.”
Colby babbled happily as she was secured into her seat. Lil swung her diaper bag up onto her shoulder, reaching down to pick up the car seat.
Jake’s hand beat her to it. “I’ll carry her; I bet she’s getting heavy.”
He smiled down at Colby who smiled back at him and Lil fought the desire to rip her child out of his hands and run. Neither of them had any business getting attached to Jake. Today was not about that. Tomorrow, things would go right back to being over.
Lil took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was for Abby.
“Thank you,” she said and hoped she didn’t sound as stressed as she felt. He was going to get suspicious if she looked like a trapped animal the whole day. Be cool. Be casual. “I couldn’t find my stroller, so hopefully there is one wherever we’re going.”
“I had yours stored in your trunk.”
“Of course.” Lil smoothed her nervous hands on her skirt and picked up her purse. “Then let’s go.”
At least having Colby with them insured that nothing would happen between them.
Bringing her had been a good idea.
Unless Jake really is dangerous and now I put my daughter in jeopardy, too. Oh, shit.
You’re losing it, Lil.
Jake had never given her a reason to think that he would ever hurt her or her child. She was letting Alethea’s paranoia make her nuts.
The trip down the elevator was painfully silent as was the wait for the car to be brought out of the parking lot. Jake opened the door for Lil and handed her the car seat, watching as she secured it.
Not the mannerisms of a madman.
Relax.
Lil jumped when Jake asked, “Do you want me to drive?”
Since her legs were ready to betray her by shaking, Lil nodded. Driving while deceiving was never a safe option. Officer, I’m sorry I didn’t see that red light I was too busy thinking about what Jake was going to say if he ever discovered why I asked him to come out with me today.
She gladly handed Jake her keys.
Buckled into the passenger seat, Lil faced forward, but watched Jake out of the corner of her eye. He’d secured his own seat belt, but hadn’t started the car.
“We can’t be friends, Lil,” he announced to the steering wheel.
“Excuse me?” Lil swallowed nervously. In the movies, this is where he would tell me that I should have minded my own business–that he had hoped things would go differently, but I knew too much to be allowed to live.
Jake looked across at her, the intensity in his eyes trapping her like a deer in headlights.
“I don’t think I have to tell you why it’s not possible.”
Because friends don’t bury friends in shallow graves in the woods?
Lil bit back a nervous giggle.
He said, “I’ve been thinking about how you called what we’re doing cheap. It doesn’t have to be. I do care about you, Lil, and I’d like for us to start over.”
No, no, no. Do not even go there. I like being afraid of you better than this. This path only leads to a tsunami of guilt. “Jake, please…”
He turned in his seat and took her hand. “Hear me out. You took me by surprise and I handled the situation poorly. Everything you said the other day was spot on right. We don’t know each other, but we can change that. I’m not here because Dominic sent me. Today, I’m here because I want to be. I want to give us a chance–not as friends, but as whatever this is–wherever this goes. This is a date, Lil; make no mistake about that. Our first date, one of many to come, and hopefully one that you’ll never forget.”
I can pretty much guarantee that I’ll remember today.
He was waiting for her to say something.
She removed her hand from his. I am going to Hell for this. Yep, fo
rget about prison, this is the fiery after-life kind of wrong. “I can’t promise you anything, Jake.”
His eyes smoldered with emotion as if her words only made him want her more. “You don’t have to.”
Lil turned forward in her seat and clasped her hands in her lap, trying to keep her tone as cheerful as possible. “So, where are we going?”
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
Oh, you did.
Trust me, you did.
“What are we doing here?” Lil asked as they parked her car in front of the Boston Museum’s School of Fine Arts.
Jake walked around the car to open the door for her before he answered. “On Thursday mornings the school has an art program for the very young and their mothers. They make their own paints and sometimes display their creations in the atrium. They have graciously allowed us to join the class today.”
Once Colby was settled into her stroller, Jake tipped a young man who had apparently been hired to park the car for them. As they walked into the building together, Lil asked, “You really signed us up for an art class?”
“Unless you’d rather do something else?”
“No, this is fine.”
This is perfect, actually. Well, it would be perfect if I weren’t a complete ass.
Lil followed Jake through the halls to a small classroom where four mothers and their babies were gathered around one large round table. The children ranged in age from near Colby’s age to one that looked like she was almost two.
A casually dressed, gray-haired woman in a large clear plastic apron met them as they entered the door. Her face looked years younger than her hair implied. “You must be Miss Dartley.” She shook Lil’s hand. “And is this Colby?” She leaned down to smile at the child and then greeted Jake. “Mr. Walton, it is an honor to have you join us today. Your donation was more than generous and will allow us to expand this program.”
Jake accepted her gratitude with a nod and a smile.
The woman turned to the mothers behind her. “Ladies, today’s class is going to be a bit different. We have some special guests today. This is Mr. Walton, a long-time supporter of the Arts in Boston and his…” She turned to Lil as she stumbled for how to describe her.
“Just call me Lil,” Lil supplied hastily.
“Welcome, Lil,” two of the mothers said almost in union. The others simply waved.
The older woman continued, “Mr. Walton flew in a surprise that I hope you all enjoy.”
A woman with short brown hair entered wearing a long print skirt and hand embroidered blouse. She said “Beunos dias, my name is Carmen Sonnes. Thank you for inviting me to join your group today. Forgive me if I take a moment to set up.”
“I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” Jake said as the woman approached them.
On one side of the room, Carmen placed three pictures on easels. “Mr. Walton is playing humble. I don’t know an artist who would not have boarded the private jet he sent for me.”
“Please, call me Jake.” Jake smiled smoothly back at the woman and directed his next comment to Lil. “I met Carmen at an art exhibit in Austin a few years ago. I thought you might enjoy meeting her, also.”
Over the last week, contained to her apartment, it was easy to forget that Jake was a man of immense power and influence. He didn’t wave his wealth around like some war banner trophy as Dominic did. Instead, it was an integral part of who he was and how he interacted with the world around him. Lil doubted that Jake had wondered at all if Carmen would accept his invitation. What was it like to be so used to winning that desired outcomes were hardly a surprise?
“From what I’ve been told this is a mother/child art group ranging from six months to two years old?” Carmen asked.
“Yes,” the instructor said, “We use edible finger paints and a variety of paper types to allow our young participants to explore the textures and colors of art.”
“And what do the mothers usually do?” Carmen asked.
One mother laughed and said, “We manage the chaos.”
Carmen waved a few young people from the doorway. “I hope you’ll accept some assistance in that role today, because I’d really like everyone to be engaged.”
A handful of male and female college aged “assistants” came to stand at the table with the mothers. Each one had a wooden easel box full of everything from oil paints and brushes to art sticks and charcoal pencils. “Please accept these art supplies as a gift from me to you. Inside your box you will find a variety of tools you could use to perform the task I will set for you. Keep it simple. You’ll have about an hour to complete your project. Before we can truly teach art to our children, we must experience it ourselves.”
Six easels were set up with a blank canvas just a foot or so behind each child.
Jake’s smile faltered when one student handed him a box of art supplies. “No, thank you,” he said.
Lil smiled over her shoulder at Jake. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily. If I’m doing this, so are you.”
Jake inspected the contents of the box doubtfully. He set his easel directly beside Lil’s.
Carmen said, “I didn’t study art formally so this may be an atypical lesson for some of you. Today is not about learning a specific technique but will hopefully be interesting to you regardless of your various abilities. Today we will explore your artistic voice.”
As she spoke, the instructor handed out multiple baby jars filled with brightly colored paint to the college students who opened them and began to work with the infants.
“I brought three pictures with me today that I feel represent my voice. My style and my art have been called many things: Mexican, Latino, Tejano, Chicano, Tex-Mex, Mexican-American, contemporary, modern, woman-centered, figurative, and representational.” Carmen smiled. “I suppose my work is some or all of these things. Basically, it is just what my heart and mind dream up. I am my art and my art is me. I am passionate about color and fascinated by Mexico.” She pointed to one of the easels. “The first painting is called Listening to My Own Counsel. When we reach a difficult crossroad, we sometimes go looking for answers outside ourselves. The answers are almost always within us. The four black birds represent the voices and advice of others. The woman turns her gaze and ears inward, beneath her blanket. The blue feather represents traditional wisdom. Symbolism is one way to express yourself in your art. The second painting is called Manitas.” She lovingly laid a hand on the top of the second painting. “Manita is short for hermanita or little sister in Spanish. This is how we fondly refer to our sisters and girlfriends. I portray two women, sisters, back to back and on the lookout for each other. I symbolize their tight unity and entangled love by weaving their hair into one thick braid, which runs down the center of the painting.” She moved to stand beside the last easel. “The third and final work is called Esperanza. It is a pencil drawing and one of my earliest works. It is my interpretation of a handful of stories passed down through the generations, from my great-grandmother, to my grand-mother, to my mother and lastly to me.” Carmen’s expression creased with sorrow as if she were experiencing the pain depicted in the artwork. “This story is of the hardships the people endured during the war, particularly the women. Wives often accompanied their husbands to war to carry ammunition, cook, wash, and tend to the injured. Nursing infants and those born on the battlefields became part of those camps. At night time, when enemy troops were near it was imperative for the survival of all that the hungry babies be kept quiet. When breasts ran dry, desperate mothers stuck stones, clods of dirt and even bullets in the wailing child’s mouth. Some inconsolable babies had to be smothered. The magnitude of this tale imprinted on my mind as a child and I tell it in this pencil drawing.”
A couple of the women teared up at the description of the last image. One woman said with disgust, “I would never hurt my child, no matter what.”
Carmen shook her head sadly. “If you can say that, you have never seen war up close. And be
fore you judge, ask yourself–are we so different from our ancestors?” She looked each woman proudly in the eye, holding their attention and pulling at their emotions. “We still give our children to war every day when we send our young men and women into battle on foreign soils. Are our older sons and daughters less precious than our infants? Is that loss any less heart-wrenching than the one in my story?” She took a deep breath, regaining the calm with which she had entered the room. “Still, embrace the reaction you felt to my story. Express it on canvas today. Art is not about everyone having the same vision or shared history–it’s about finding your message, your voice, and exposing it to the world. So, no matter what anyone draws today, accept it because it is an intimate look into their souls and therefore should be honored as such.”
“Damn,” Jake whispered to Lil. “Now I can’t draw stick figures.”
Lil wiped a rogue tear from her cheek and smiled at him. “You could if your soul is full of sticks.”
“What if I draw you naked?” His words tickled her ear.
Lil wagged a finger at him. “Try it and you invite serious payback.”
Carmen smiled and said, “Enough chatter. Choose your tools. Take a moment to look inside yourself instead of at the blank canvass. When you are ready, put a piece of yourself onto the canvas. Tell your story.”
The room was charged with emotion. Even the babies seemed to sense that something important was happening and were subdued as they dunked their fingers into the edible paints and mixed colors onto the papers before them.
Lil chose colorful art sticks.
Jake chose black charcoal pencils.
Lil dove into drawing with bold lines and bright colors.
Jake’s moves were more precise and calculated. He drew himself on top of a mountain surrounded by several doors. Behind each door was a path that led to a different destination. One led to a cliff. One led to a place of order and straight, bold lines. Another led to a much less clear picture. Jake reached over and borrowed a few of Lil’s art sticks even though he could have easily used his own. He drew a simple woman with a child and surrounded both with a wild assortment of colors. It was the only place where color touched his sketch.
Bedding the Billionaire (Book 3) (Legacy Collection) Page 10