Under A Painted Moon

by Rayne Forrest

  "I'm serious about wanting lunch. Some idiot kept me up all night and I'm hungry. You did tell the gallery you'd do the show, didn't you?"

  "Of course I did. I've got a lot of planning to do, so, no, I don't know for sure how many pieces I'll have ready. Let's talk about something else. Tell my why you'd pay fifty-eight dollars for a pillow."

  She grinned at him. They managed to chat amicably until they reached a small restaurant on the outskirts of town. When he parked the car, Courtney sighed and stared out the window.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Wayne used to bring me here."

  Damn.

  "Do you like the food here? Do you like the place?"

  "Well, yes, I do."

  "Good. It's time for a new memory, Courtney. One you'll want to keep.” He came around the car and opened her door.

  "You seem sure of yourself.” She took his hand when he offered it to her. He looked her in the eye.

  "Not with you I'm not.” He slammed the car door closed. “You're the older woman, remember?” She didn't respond.

  She couldn't respond. She was caught by a memory from years ago when a very young Barry had brought her flowers for her birthday.

  She'd accepted them politely. It had seemed no more than a young man bringing a bright bouquet to his employer. Now, with the clarity of hindsight, she saw the look in that young man's eyes. She remembered what she'd said and the light fading from the young man's eyes.

  They were different people now.

  "I don't suppose a few years disparity in age makes a difference now,” she finally said. She hoped he'd take it for the offering it was.

  "Not to me,” he answered lightly. “It's never made any difference to me."

  "Ah, yes. I do remember. The lady who introduced you to her arts society cronies after you did a painting of her garden. What was her name? Maria? Marla?"

  "Mary. I took her to dinner, then I always took her home.” He grinned at her. “She was eighty and a great date. She led a very checkered life. I enjoyed knowing her."

  "She was pretty spry for eighty,” Courtney said, teasing him.

  "She sure was. She asked me to take her ballroom dancing, too."

  "You don't dance, or so you say."

  "And Mary is why I refused to learn.” They both laughed. The tension between them fled. The hostess seated them and handed them menus. Barry ordered white wine for both of them.

  Courtney barely glanced at her menu. She knew it by heart. Wayne had brought her here weekly for almost a year. Now she knew why.

  He'd been sleeping with one of the waitresses. Bringing her here for dinner was his way of constantly reminding the girl he was married and would remain so.

  She smiled at Barry. He said it was time for a new memory. Maybe he was right. In any event, she wasn't going to tell him why she hadn't come here in a few years. He'd be upset with himself if he knew. That was the way he was.

  It would be better to keep her conversation focused on a safe topic.

  "I noticed you have several cameras in the car."

  He nodded. “I'd like to take a few old roads on the way back home. Do you mind?"

  "No. I love to ride around the countryside when I can gawk and not worry about wrecking a car.” She sipped her wine. “Are you looking for something specific?"

  "Old buildings. I've had an idea that I've been mulling over for a while. With the offer of another show, it feels like the time is right to do it."

  "You always do old buildings."

  "Historic houses are not generally referred to as old buildings."

  The waitress returned and took their orders. Courtney watched suspiciously as the woman smiled and flirted with Barry. He was polite, but distant with her. Maybe she was just trying to get a larger tip. When she walked away, Barry continued.

  "What I see in my mind is an old building, rundown, in bad repair. Tired, if you want to emotionalize it. But there, in the window glass, is the reflection of what it was. All new and brightly painted, serving proudly those who gave it life."

  Courtney smiled at him. “You're romanticizing brick and mortar."

  "Of course. That's what I always do, isn't it? Romance is what the world is missing.” He laid his hand on the table, palm up. “Wouldn't you like to have a little romance back in your life?"

  She laid her hand in his. His strong fingers closed around hers.

  "To say that would imply I had some there in the first place."

  "You must have had some romance in your life, once upon a time."

  "I don't think so. It doesn't feel like I did, anyway."

  "Courtney Nichols. I'd never have taken you to be so jaded on love."

  "They say it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. What do you think?"

  "I've only loved from afar.” Barry sipped his wine. He squeezed her hand. “Did you love Wayne?"

  It never occurred to her to be other than honest with him. She could tell him and he'd never fault her. Oh, Barry said what was on his mind. He might tease her privately with some witty comment. But he'd never hold the truth against her.

  "I don't know. Maybe I didn't."

  "You married him.” His voice was gentle with understanding. His thumb moved in soft circles on her knuckles.

  "I was afraid of being alone all my life. I look back and wonder if I saw Wayne as my last chance to marry and have a family."

  "And now? What do you want now?"

  "I think I need to find Courtney Nichols again. She's still here, somewhere."

  "I'd like to formally offer my services to help you look for her."

  She looked into his sparkling eyes and saw what she'd seen all those years ago when he'd handed her flowers. Barry was a man who was simple in his complexity, caring under the biting wit, and honest in his silences.

  "I think I'd like that."

  Chapter 8

  Courtney unlocked the front door to her new home. The Victorian was hers. She'd signed on the dotted line less than an hour ago. She closed the door behind her and dropped her jacket and purse on the floor.

  Now she had to decide where to start.

  She vacillated between the kitchen and her bedroom. She itched to just haul all her things here and sort it out later. The horror stories she'd heard of living in a house while restoration work was in progress did not deter her one iota. Especially since she'd be doing some of the work.

  Grabbing her notepad, she plopped down on the stairs and began organizing her thoughts on paper. Again.

  This time, however, it was for real. This time the house was really hers.

  She picked up her cell phone to call a lawn service, then made a note on the pad to bring a telephone directory over. That made her realize she needed some very basic items here. She made a shopping list. Some of the items she had on hand and could bring over on her next trip. Others, she'd have to purchase.

  She wandered from room to room, making more notes. She was standing at the kitchen sink when a shiny red pickup pulled in behind her car. The sticker was still in the window. Barry hopped out. She tapped on the window at him. He grinned and made a sweeping gesture at his new toy. She knew she had to go out and admire it. Men expected such things.

  "Okay, McWaters, it's very pretty. What else should I say?"

  "You should say it's got an eight foot bed, chrome alloy wheels, four-wheel drive and a genuine V-8 engine.” He made a show of polishing a decal on the front fender.

  "Yeah, yeah, what you just said.” She grinned at him. “It certainly is red."

  He laughed, an open, easy, contented sound that made her want to wrap her arms around him and see if she could freeze the moment in time somehow.

  "So you're finished signing all the papers? Let me see your hand."

  Her brows knitted together. “My hand?"

  Barry reached for her right hand and examined it.

  "It doesn't look all cramped from clutching an ink pen."

  She wiggled her finger
s at him, especially the middle one. He chuckled.

  "Now, now. Be nice.” He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her to him. She slipped her free arm around his waist. He leaned on his new truck and she relaxed against him.

  "I'm almost afraid to ask this, but why did you get this vehicle?"

  "I needed something bigger. A buddy of mine is going to build me a special rack once I get a bed liner and cover installed. It will make it a lot easier to handle framed pieces."

  "I guess it will be easier. Tyler hauled some of your larger pieces for you, didn't she?"

  "All the time. I almost bought an SUV but someone I know is moving soon, so a truck seemed a better choice."

  "Oh, God. I knew you were going to say that.” Courtney sighed. She'd seen it coming over the last week.

  Every time they talked about the Victorian and the amount of work it needed, Barry mentioned a pickup. A few days ago, she'd mentioned she was thinking of trading her car in on one and seen the flash of panic in his eyes.

  Now she understood why. It would have driven him crazy if she had a truck and he didn't. It would have plucked his male ego, or some such nonsense.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. He was warm and solid, his heartbeat slow and steady. She put her hand on his chest, covering his nipple, and his heartbeat got faster.

  They'd been very careful with each other since that night at the shop. Barry had clearly taken her declaration that she needed to find herself again seriously. He'd backed off, but only far enough to let her see a sliver of daylight between them. If she made a step toward him, he was right there.

  He wanted her and she well knew it.

  Damn him for being an infuriatingly patient man. She'd never been so sexually frustrated in her life.

  Here he was again today, calmly holding her. He'd kiss her, eventually. Of course, she'd have to say something or do something that would show her impatience for the kiss. And even then, Barry would not hurry.

  Oh, he knew what he was doing to her.

  She knew what she was doing to him, too. She could see the evidence of it when she sneaked the more than occasional look below his belt. The man had a problem.

  The bigger problem of what was going on between them, after knowing each other for fifteen years, kept her awake nights. It felt like he wanted more than sex, quite a bit more, and she just didn't know what to do with that.

  She pushed away from him.

  "Come on. Come inside.” She held out her hand to him. He took it and walked up the steps with her. She had an inspiration. She turned and hugged him.

  "Wait here.” She darted to the foyer and grabbed her purse, then ran back to the kitchen. Barry was opening and closing cabinets.

  "Let's break in your new truck by getting an inexpensive dinette set so we have a place to sit and talk."

  He nodded. “Sure. But why don't we just carry in the one in the carriage house?"

  Courtney stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him.

  "You've been in the carriage house?"

  "No, but I peeked in the windows. I take it you never did?"

  Courtney shook her head. The garage had barely interested her. Some time in the future, her car would stay in there, not her.

  She pulled the set of keys the settlement lawyer had given her out of her purse. “One of these must work that lock."

  Barry held out his hand for them and she dropped them into his open palm. They walked across the overgrown lawn to the carriage house.

  "I don't suppose you have a buddy who has a lawn service, do you?” she asked him.

  "As a matter of fact, sort of. I'll call the fellow who does mine and send him your way.” Barry started trying various keys in the lock until one worked. He swung the door open. Courtney poked her head inside.

  "What a mess."

  "Tsk, tsk, babe. Don't you mean, what a treasure chest?"

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Mess. Treasure. It's all in the eye of the homeowner."

  He chuckled and stepped past her and began clearing junk off the table. “We'll need to go get some cleaning supplies. There must be decades of grime on this thing."

  "It is really bad. Maybe we should just go get a new little set."

  "Where's your sense of curiosity? I think this is oak."

  "The finish is so yucky, you're leaving fingerprints in it."

  "Just grab that end and start walking."

  "Bossy, bossy.” Courtney grabbed her end and they carried it into the kitchen. Whatever the table might be, it was covered in a thick layer of black, sticky gunk. She picked at it while Barry went back for the chairs, returning with a mismatched pair that he deposited beside the table. She grimaced.

  "Barry, I really didn't want to refinish furniture as my first project."

  "Okay. Let's just hit them with some soap and water. If that doesn't improve them enough to use while the place is in shambles, I'll take you wherever you want for a new set. Deal?"

  "Deal. So let's go get cleaning supplies. I have a list."

  He backed her against the door, eyes gleaming.

  "Kiss me first."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling up at him. She loved it when he smiled at her like that. His lips touched hers, soft and easy. She tasted the want in him, sorry that he held it so closely in check, relieved that he could rein in his passion. Her lips opened. Her nipples tingled and she stilled the urge to rub against him.

  He touched the tip of his tongue to hers, once. She responded in kind, knowing with infuriating certainty he'd not do it again. She longed for him to lay her down again, to take them back to that moment on the sofa. He would, she knew, but short of stripping naked, she also knew there wasn't a way to speed him along when he'd made up his mind not to be hurried.

  Stubborn man.

  * * * *

  Barry left Courtney at the Victorian and sped off to his studio to meet a representative of a group planning a new museum to preserve the history of the Cripple Creek mining strike. He was one of two artists being interviewed to do several murals.

  He knew the other artist, Paris Coverton. He planned to suggest she do the main, larger level and he do the second level. If the board didn't go for that idea, he was going to have to bow out. There wasn't any way for him to do the entire project in the proposed time frame now that he had a second show signed with Hawke Gallery.

  The second level was where the town would be depicted. Buildings were his expertise, not people and animals. Paris could capture the essence of the miners much better than he would be able to and he had no problem admitting that.

  He pulled up just as Paris was arriving. Being a gentleman, he helped her out of her car and carried her portfolio for her. She was admiring the backgrounds on what would become the Elizabethtowne series when the representative arrived.

  Barry pitched his idea to split the work and was rejected. When he declined to be involved in the project, it was obvious he'd been their choice. The representative's cavalier attitude toward Paris had Barry hoping she'd consider dropping the project, too.

  When pushed to sign the contract on the spot, she finally stepped back and told the rep she'd have to sleep on it. He wasn't pleased and didn't linger. Barry walked him to the door. Paris was standing in front of several prepped canvases when he returned.

  "They will be a series of old outbuildings and garages,” he told her. “Do you want something to drink? I have tea and soda."

  "I'd love some tea, thanks.” She looked at his photographs of the dilapidated structures. “These are certainly interesting. What draws you to them?"

  "You don't think those buildings have soul?” He handed her a large tumbler of iced tea. “I look at old buildings and see their hearts."

  "You're a romantic.” She sipped her tea, then sat on his couch. He eased his long frame down beside her.

  "So I'm told. What are you going to do about the museum?"

  "I don't know. I didn't like that fellow's attitude. He wanted you, not
me."

  "You're good, Paris. You've too much talent for their little project. Can I butt in?"

  "Sure."

  "I'd go call a few guild members and see if you get any red flags."

  "Did you? Call around, that is."

  "No. But I would if I were still planning on being involved in the project. Chances are everything is fine and he was just miffed he couldn't have things his way. Chances are he just wants to be sure everyone knows who's the boss."

  Paris downed a healthy swig of her tea. “You're probably right, but I will make a few calls before I sign any contract. Thanks, Barry.” She leaned over, kissed his cheek, then hopped off the couch. She froze.

  Barry turned to follow her gaze. Courtney stood in the doorway watching them, her expression carefully neutral. He stood and went to her.

  "Courtney, this is Paris Coverton. She's been offered the museum murals."

  Courtney didn't smile but she extended her hand to Paris. “Congratulations. I understand the competition was tough for that job."

  Paris took her hand. “Thanks. It was.” She smiled at Barry. “I have to run. Barry, thanks for the tea, the advice, and the job."

  He nodded, his eyes on Courtney. “You're welcome on all counts. Good luck with it."

  Paris slipped by them and out the door without further comment. Barry reached to put his arm around Courtney. She avoided him.

  "Okay. Now you're pissed.” He ran his fingers through his hair. The back of his neck tightened.

  "More like surprised,” Courtney replied. “But it's all right. I don't own you."

  "Don't start that. I know this looked bad to you, but I'm not Wayne. I'd appreciate it if you didn't confuse the two of us.” He took a step toward her. He thought she flinched. It brought him up short, a nasty thought forming in his mind.

  "I'm sorry, Courtney. I should have told you Paris was part of the meeting."

  Courtney looked away. “You're making me feel rather stupid, you know that?"

  "That's not my intention. I should have considered how you'd feel about some of my friendships and told you. That's all Paris and I are. Friends. We travel in a lot of the same circles.” He touched her arm. “Don't shut me out, Courtney."

  Barry looked at her still face, the downcast eyes. She'd already closed herself off. Little by little over the last weeks he'd come to realize what her private life with her ex-husband must have been like. The man had been subtly cruel to her, and at the end, openly so.