Under A Painted Moon

by Rayne Forrest

  She shook her head. “You were sounding good up to that point. We'll work something out so we don't impede the flow of traffic."

  He reluctantly released her, refusing to entertain any thought of not getting that close to her again.

  "Come on, then.” He stood and offered her a hand up. She let him pull her to her feet.

  "How big is your memory card? Could you take a few interior...” her voice trailed off as she took in his grin. “I'm so glad you find me amusing, McWaters."

  He laughed softly and started back up the stairs. “I like to work from the top, down, Nichols. Remember that."

  Chapter 5

  Courtney tossed and turned, alternately hot, then cold, tangled in her sheets, after that, blissfully chilled and searching for the covers. She woke just after midnight, drenched in sweat and feeling lightheaded.

  She stripped off her nightgown and forced herself to stumble to the bathroom. She found her thermometer, silently thanking Tyler for leaving it. It registered almost a hundred and one degrees.

  What in the world had she picked up? She didn't remember being around anyone who had complained of being ill.

  She popped two aspirins and gave her damp hair a quick once-over with the blow dryer. The clock chimed one. She sighed tiredly, knowing she'd be awake for at least another hour, sick or not. It was always a struggle to relax and get back to sleep.

  By three, she was feeling warm again, and miserable. She wrapped a small blanket around her shoulders and went to her office. She ran through her emails, then checked the Desert Moon website. To her surprise, the link to Mountain High was active.

  She was looking at the work-in-progress photos Tyler had posted when her instant messaging popped open. What was she doing awake at four in the morning, indeed?

  Talking to you, she typed back to Barry.

  And just what was he doing awake at this hour? She assumed he'd been out on a date. Over the years she'd known him, he'd dated a lot, although they all seemed to be first dates only. She had wondered about that from time to time. If he were looking for perfection in a mate, she had a few sage words for him.

  He'd just gotten up. At four in the morning?

  She asked him if he were crazy.

  Her telephone rang. She didn't bother to say hello.

  "You've got some nerve calling at this hour, bucko."

  "Good morning, Courtney. Should I bring over breakfast? I'm driving out to Sparks to get a few shots as the sun comes up. I'd love your company. I'll have you back home by eight."

  "I'd love to, but I have some sort of virus or bug or something. Can I have a rain check?"

  There was the briefest pause. “Of course. Are we still on for lunch?"

  "Yes, if you're willing to risk breathing the same air as I am. Who knows what this may turn in to."

  "I'm pretty tough. Can I bring you anything? Ginger ale? Doughnuts? Coffee?"

  "No. It's just a bug. There's no need to hover over me just because Tyler isn't here to do it."

  "Maybe I'll call her and she can hover long distance,” he teased.

  "Do it and die, McWaters."

  He chuckled softly in her ear. “Okay, then. I'll see you around noon. I hope you feel better."

  "I'll be fine. Noon. Don't be late. I might be hungry by then."

  "And I've seen you eat.” He laughed good-naturedly and hung up before she could tell him to go to hell.

  She jumped up, went in her bedroom, and stripped off her nightgown. Looking in the full-length mirror, she decided those extra ten “divorce” pounds had to go.

  He'd seen her eat. Ha! She'd show him, and he'd like it, too.

  * * * *

  Barry had planned a more direct route back to his studio when he left Sparks, but the old Victorian called to him. He understood how Courtney had fallen in love with the house, but it was the little carriage house that interested him this morning.

  Old structures were his passion. He would see an old building and envision it as it must have appeared when it was all new and bright. He'd long wanted to do a series where the current building would house the ghost of itself, reflected in old glass. If Courtney went through with buying the place, he'd do the carriage house as his test on the project. The original could be a housewarming gift to her.

  He snapped off a few shots from different angles, then noticed the back door to the house was open. He finished the camera work, bounded up on the porch, and pulled the door firmly closed. The lock caught, barely. He made a mental note to suggest to Courtney that she install all new locksets.

  He used his cell phone to call Rococo and order two lunches. A little flirtation with the girl on the other end of the line netted him the use of a monogrammed tablecloth and two napkins. He'd stop and get a small bouquet of carnations on his way to Desert Moon.

  Back at his studio, he downloaded the snapshots and studied them for a bit, finally closing that file and moving on to his main project, the Elizabethtowne series. The first of that series would be The Maples, a two hundred-plus year old farmhouse that had been converted to a bed and breakfast.

  His vision of the finished painting combined three of the snapshots he'd taken. He selected one of the seven prepared canvases and began the house. It was nearing noon when he dropped his brush in the cleaning tray. Showered and dressed presentably, he stopped at a florist, picked up lunch and made it to Desert Moon by twelve-thirty. Courtney met him at the front door, barring his way.

  "You're late."

  "I am not!” He held out the bouquet. “Would you like these?"

  "No.” She snatched the flowers away from him and turned on her heel, but not before he saw her smile. Barry grinned and followed her.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "I'm fine. You thought I was going to tell you I was sick and back out of lunch, didn't you?"

  There wasn't much point in denying it. “The thought occurred to me."

  "You should know me better than that."

  That was just it. Fifteen years and, past the fact he'd been in love with her for most of that time, there was a lot he didn't know about her. That pesky husband of hers had been in his way.

  "Should I? We always had Tyler as an intermediary. If you think about it, we really don't know each other."

  She grabbed a pottery vase from a display and carried it to the bar sink.

  "How can you say that? We've known each other a long time."

  "When's my birthday?"

  She stared at him, surprised. “I don't know."

  "What's my mother's name?"

  "Mrs. McWaters."

  He grinned. “No. It's Mom.” He lifted the basket. “Where are we eating?"

  Courtney dropped the carnations into the vase and shook them into place. “Over on that sofa.” She pointed to one of the display areas and walked toward it. Barry followed her, staying out of her way as she deftly removed the display on the glass topped coffee table.

  "Just sit down,” he told her, spreading the Rococo tablecloth. She laughed softly, a pleasing sound that grew louder as he pulled the Styrofoam containers from the basket.

  "Great choice of plates,” she teased.

  "The latest in shabby chic.” He handed her a napkin. “Don't mess that up. I have to take it back."

  She rolled her eyes as he pulled a two-liter bottle of ginger ale from the basket and poured the fizzy liquid into plastic flutes. They tapped the rims of the glasses together and sipped. Barry leaned back on the couch and examined the price tag.

  "So you're really going to get almost three thousand dollars for this piece of furniture?” He patted the cushion between them.

  "I expect to, yes. There are several designers we work closely with. If they have a client who wants it, there is a slight discount."

  "So I'd better not drip potato salad on it, huh?"

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  "No, I'd rather you'd not. How did your snaps turn out?"

  "I wish I knew,” he said dryly. “I'm invest
ing in some new equipment for photo prints."

  "Ah, computers.” Courtney grinned at him. “I love your photos."

  Barry washed down a bite of his cold roast beef sandwich with a swallow of ginger ale.

  "Good. Would you like to test market a few?"

  "I'd break your kneecaps if you made a deal anywhere else!"

  "Are we doing paper on it?"

  "Oh, good grief, McWaters.” She looked at him from under her bangs. “Do you need paper on it?"

  "Nope. Not from Nichols-Morgan, Inc.” He crunched a carrot stick. “I'll want to offer them off my website, too."

  "Of course you will. I don't want to hold you back in any way, shape or form."

  "I wasn't implying I felt you were trying to hold me to an exclusive agreement."

  "Why not? We have two exclusive agreements with you. Are they a problem for you now?"

  "I didn't say that! Jesus, Courtney.” He looked away and blew out a long breath. “This is when Tyler always stepped in, you know that?"

  Courtney sank back into her corner of the sofa. She toyed nervously with her rings. Barry sighed again.

  "Okay, Court. Let's not get snappy with each other over a dozen or so framed pieces. I'm not interested in a contract on a market test. If it pans out, you know we'll have to do paper or the lawyers will howl like banshees."

  "I'm sorry. It's just that the New York show elevates your career to a higher level."

  "Maybe, maybe not. I just don't want to argue with you."

  "What do you want to do with me?"

  Barry carefully set his glass on the table. He slid across the cushion to sit beside her. Cupping her chin, he tipped her face up. Worried brown eyes watched him.

  "That is the most loaded question I've ever been asked.” He touched his lips to hers. She jumped, inhaling sharply. He tasted her surprise and didn't linger.

  He pulled away, wanting more. She licked her lips as to see if some trace of him remained.

  "Are you going to eat your brownie?"

  She blinked at him. “You kissed me to try and get my brownie?"

  "Did it work?"

  "No. I want chocolate. Wait. I take that back. Now I need chocolate."

  "One kiss and you have cravings?” He leaned closer to her. She moved away, eyes narrowed.

  "Don't push it. I want to know why you did that."

  "Does it need to be analyzed?"

  "Yes. So tell me why. Or is it like the old song, ‘a kiss is just a kiss'?"

  Barry slipped his arm around her. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened.

  "It's more than that, Courtney. It's always been more than that.” He lowered his mouth to hers.

  She melted sweetly against him. Her lips opened and moved under his, returning his kiss, meeting him halfway in a soft, lingering caress that refused to move toward any demand. She sighed into his mouth causing him to struggle to draw a breath. And still he would not, could not, deepen the kiss to passion.

  A sixth sense told him, beyond doubt, that passion would frighten her. Passion would take her too quickly past the place where she could accept he wanted to move their friendship to something more. That little voice spoke insistently that she did need time to analyze. Everything.

  He slowly pulled away, moving his lips scant inches off hers. Her eyes were closed, her lashes, bare of mascara, were dark against her pale skin. Her fingers slipped into his hair. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Her gaze locked with his. Her voice was the barest whisper.

  "Kiss me again."

  Barry swallowed, hard. He wanted to do just that but he couldn't.

  "I'd better not. Someone just came in the front door."

  Chapter 6

  Courtney walked a first-time visitor to Desert Moon through the store, aware of Barry sitting on the sofa calmly munching carrot sticks and watching her. When they got to him, she introduced him to her new client. Mrs. Bolton was so excited to meet him, when Courtney told her he'd painted the Desert Moon print, she bought the last one. Barry offered to re-sign it, scrawling “Barry” above his signature “BMW” already there. Courtney hid the smile on her face when the matronly woman kissed him on the cheek.

  Courtney kept one eye on Barry as she wrote up the order for the painting and several smaller pieces to be delivered. He lounged comfortably on the sofa, seeming completely at ease. His eyes watched her, gleaming with amusement and satisfaction as she chatted amicably with her client.

  He'd kissed her. Every time her mind would stray back to that moment, her heart would flutter and race for a few moments.

  He'd kissed her and she'd wanted him to do it again. Maybe he would if she could just get Mrs. Bolton to bolt out the door.

  But it wasn't to be. Before Mrs. Bolton could leave, someone else came in, then another. After about an hour, Barry began discreetly packing up the remains of their lunch. He disappeared into her private office suite with the basket. She excused herself when he came out carrying the borrowed linens.

  "I've got to leave, Courtney. I have a client of my own coming to the studio this afternoon. I'll call you later. The leftovers are in your fridge."

  She tried to keep the disappointment from showing on her face. She nodded.

  "Thanks for lunch. Maybe we can find a quieter place the next time you want a picnic."

  He smiled at her. “Anytime you say the word."

  She took a quick breath and plunged ahead. Maybe it was time to see if she remembered how to be spontaneous.

  "I'm off tomorrow."

  "That soon?” His smile broadened.

  "Is that a problem? A man as resourceful as you shouldn't have any problem providing lunch two days in a row."

  "Oh, no problem at all. I'll pick you up at one o'clock. Wear jeans."

  "I'll be ready.” She turned and rejoined her customer.

  By the time seven o'clock rolled around, Courtney was tired, but very pleased. Her favorite designer had brought in a client and the resulting sales and immediate payment buoyed her already reliable cash flow.

  She locked the front door, grabbed a few catalogs and a small lamp, and settled on the sofa she and Barry had used. She had a sudden flash, a vision of the sofa in the third floor room of the Victorian. It wasn't quite appropriate, style wise, but she pictured the large, open area with its sloping ceilings and odd spaces as a more modern retreat for comfortable lounging in front of a large television. She found a red marker and wrote ‘sold’ on the tag, then flipped open the catalogs and went to work on an extensive inventory order. Several hours later, a loud pounding on the front door intruded on her concentration.

  She twisted and looked at the door. Barry stood there, haloed by the streetlights. She flipped on the overhead lights and opened the door for him. He glared down at her.

  "What the fuck are you doing here this late?"

  She bit back a retort. There was no point snapping his head off until she found out what his problem was. Still, she wasn't going to let him off the hook for talking to her like that.

  "Excuse me? I own the place, or have you forgotten?"

  "It's one in the morning. What were you going to do? Walk out of here and mosey down the street to your car belting out your rendition of Dancing in the Rain?"

  She straightened in surprise. “One o'clock? Really? I guess I should go home.” She paused as it occurred to her he was running around in the middle of the night.

  "Just what are you doing wandering about the streets?"

  "I've been calling you for hours. Your house. Here. Your cell phone.” His lips pressed together in a thin, angry line.

  "Why? And why are you mad at me, for heaven's sake?” She itched to touch him and make him forget about being angry and kiss her again.

  Only she didn't want him to think she'd let him get away with trying to run her life.

  "I'm not mad at you.” The green eyes closed for a moment, then opened with a more agreeable glint to them. He tried to smile.

  If he could smile, so coul
d she. Maybe.

  "Okay. You get points for trying to improve your mood. What do you need? Why were you calling me?"

  His gaze locked with hers. He reached behind his back and flipped off the overhead lights. Her heart stuttered, then began beating wildly. She backed away from him, making him stalk her all the way to the sofa. He ran his fingers down her arm to capture her hand.

  "Now what are you about, McWaters?” A corner of her mind registered she could barely draw breath to speak. He grinned wolfishly at her.

  "What do you want me to be about?” He lifted her hand, placing it in the center of his chest. His heartbeat was strong and fast under her palm. His hand was warm covering hers.

  "You've got a lot of nerve coming in here, thinking you can get away with yelling at me."

  "When I was twenty-one, you constantly referred to me as ‘cheeky’ and continually questioned my parentage. I have changed, but not that much.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down on his lap.

  "Shut up and kiss me."

  "Oh, I don't think I will. You're never out this late. I was worried, Court."

  She recognized that for what it was. It was the most candid admission she was likely to get from him.

  "How would you know that?"

  "When I'm out late, I drive by your place. I've been keeping an eye on you and Tyler since you guys bought the rancher and refused to install security."

  She'd been wrong. That was the most candid admission she'd ever get from him.

  "Barry McWaters, that is so sweet. And so very annoying. We didn't need you checking up on us."

  "Why not? Friends look out for each other."

  It wasn't friendship she was thinking about. Friendship wasn't what he was thinking about either. He was hard against her hip. Her belly tightened, surprising her with the almost forgotten sensation. His hand slipped under her sweater, resting warm on her back. Her heart did that little fluttering thing it had taken to doing when he was close to her.

  She almost asked him if that was what they were, friends. The words wouldn't come for fear of what his answer might be.

  He'd been right, earlier, when he'd said Tyler had always stepped in between them when they started to argue. Tyler and Barry had definitely been friends, just as she and Tyler had been. But there had always been tension and distance between her and Barry.