Country Roads

by Nancy Herkness

  He shook his head emphatically.

  “Do you know how to ride?”

  “I can walk, trot, and canter, but I prefer mechanical horsepower.” He patted the car’s dashboard. “Sorry we all overreacted when you mentioned you couldn’t ride.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” That was true, as long as she knew they liked her paintings. She figured they would overlook her other shortcomings, especially if she didn’t tell them about the biggest one. “I started drawing horses because I couldn’t ride them, as sort of a compensation for disappointing Papi. He’s a great horseman.”

  “I’d say you’d overcompensated,” Paul said.

  She didn’t understand why, but his appreciation of her work meant even more to her than Claire’s. Maybe it was because he claimed not to like art, yet his desire to own one of her Night Mares had been genuine. She felt like her pictures had changed him in a small way. “You know, I was about to stop painting.”

  “What!” The car jolted onto the shoulder before he pulled it back onto the asphalt.

  “I didn’t want to.” That was an understatement since art was the only thing she knew how to do. “But I couldn’t go back to my old style, and my uncle was telling me not to go forward. So I was stuck.”

  She felt again the cold, damp suck of the abyss she had stared down into when she thought she would have to give up her work. It was worse than any seizure she’d had.

  “Don’t ever let another person stop you from doing what you love!” Paul said. “Ever!”

  “Okay.” Julia didn’t know what else to say in the face of such vehemence. “I won’t. Ever.”

  “Sorry for the outburst,” Paul said.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s good advice,” she said, as she tried to read his face. The country road had no streetlights, and the dashboard’s glow was too muted to illuminate his features. Still she got the sense his reaction came from his own experience, not in response to hers. Who had stopped him from doing what he loved?

  Julia was drifting in a hazily pleasant dream when a deep male voice came from just beside her ear. “Julia, we’re here. Wake up.” She didn’t quite recognize it, but she liked the sound.

  “I don’t want to wake up. This is too nice a dream.”

  Something warm and with an intriguing texture of smooth over hard brushed her cheek as the voice came again. “Julia, we’re at the inn.”

  The inn? Surprise made her open her eyes to see the square white columns of the Traveller Inn. Memory flooded back, and she turned her head to find Paul leaning across the gearshift, his hand poised in the air. He must have run the back of it over her cheek.

  The porch light spilled down across the lawn, throwing shadows into all the hollows of his face. She couldn’t take her eyes off his lips. They were so close and so perfectly masculine. She wanted to shift her head far enough to touch them with her own mouth, but nerves froze her in her seat.

  She forced herself to lift her gaze to his and nearly gasped. His eyes were locked on her lips and his intent was crystal clear.

  She waited, hoping he would close the distance between them.

  He touched her hair, threading his fingers into the strands over her ear, as he leaned closer. She let her eyelids close.

  She heard a strangled sound before her hair was released. Stunned, she opened her eyes to watch him leap out of the car and walk around the long hood.

  He sidestepped as she shoved the door open. “I guess you’re awake now,” he said as she got out on her own. “I was going to give you an arm to lean on.”

  She’d blown it again. If she’d sat still, she’d have his arm wrapped around her, and maybe that would have led to other things. She thought fast. “I’ll take the arm anyway. I’m not used to drinking that much wine.” She wobbled slightly as she stood.

  His arm came around her waist like a warm band of steel. She savored the scent of starch and citrus and man as they climbed the steps to the front porch in slow unison.

  He used his free hand to swing the screen door wide and walk her through into the lobby. When she saw a woman sitting behind the reception desk, she reluctantly straightened and stepped out of Paul’s encircling arm. She didn’t want to start any gossip. A lot of people thought artists had shaky morals.

  The clerk, a middle-aged woman with permed brown hair, looked up. “Evening, Ms. Castillo. Paul, good to see you. I hope you had a nice time out.”

  “Can’t complain, Irene,” Paul said.

  Julia started toward the staircase, expecting Paul to follow.

  “I’ll pick you up at one tomorrow and take you to the stable,” he said, still standing by the desk. “Good night.”

  Disappointment flooded her. There would be no good-night kiss at her door. “I…thank you. For driving me. And everything else.”

  He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and walked toward the door.

  Julia trudged up the first four steps before she remembered there was a window in the second-floor corridor that looked out onto the front parking lot. She bolted up the rest of the steps and across the hallway. Sidling up to the curtains hanging on the side of the arched casement, she peered downward.

  Paul had just reached the edge of the parking lot, ambling along with his hands thrust in his pockets and his head down. The yellowish light made his shirt glow cream and his hair pick up glints of amber. He arrived beside the Corvette and stopped, then pivoted to look back at the inn. Even though he didn’t look up, she found herself shrinking back behind the curtain.

  He pulled one hand out of his pocket and ran it through his hair in a gesture of indecision. She held her breath. Then he shook his head, and the ’Vette’s headlights flashed on as he unlocked the door. He inserted himself into the car and left the lot with a brief squeal of tires.

  Back in her room, she paced around the living area, too keyed up to even think about sleeping. If she was at home, she’d go to her studio and work off her pent-up frustration with brushes and paint.

  “My sketchpad!” She snatched it up from the table. Even though it was a warm night, she flipped on the switch that lit the gas fire and kicked her boots off before she sank down cross-legged on the couch.

  An hour later, she dropped her pencil and flipped through the drawings she’d just finished. One page was a series of faces, all Paul’s: one smiling as she remembered him the first time he shook her hand at the roadside; one laughing as he had at dinner; one in proud profile as he surveyed his town from the terrace of the Library Café; and one shadowed as it had been in the car.

  Turning the page, she grinned. She had made good on her threat to draw him nude, wading out of a river. Of course, she had to use her imagination about what he looked like without his clothes on, but that wasn’t hard. She’d drawn dozens of unclothed male models in her years as an art student. For fun, she had strategically positioned a large trout in his hands to cover his private parts, since she had chosen not to speculate on the size of those.

  She turned to the next page, to the single drawing of him with the look in his eyes that said he wanted to kiss her. She had reproduced it as photographically as possible, breaking down her memory into single components: eyes, eyebrows, top lip, bottom lip, sketching each one separately to avoid injecting any emotional interpretation. As she examined it again, she decided she had not misread his intention. For some reason, he had changed his mind.

  It had been a long time since she had been kissed by a man…other than Paul’s earlier kiss, meant to comfort her, which didn’t count. Her current life didn’t offer many opportunities, and she was darned if she was going to let such an attractive one slip by.

  Chapter 9

  WHEN PAUL WALKED into the lobby the next afternoon, Julia felt intimidated. He was dressed in a pale-gray suit with a blue shirt and yellow tie, and looked powerful and out of her reach. Now that they were in his car and he had taken his jacket off and laid it in the backseat, he seemed more approachable. But she decided she wanted to get this particular
issue out of the way immediately.

  “I ran into Mrs. Bostic downtown this morning,” Julia said, as Paul started the car. She smoothed her hands down her new short denim skirt. Claire had given her the rundown on the best clothing stores, and Julia had gone on a shopping spree partly aimed at changing Paul’s mind about kissing her. Unfortunately, she’d also run into the chatty waitress. “She, um, has decided we’re an item because her sister-in-law is the receptionist and saw us together last night.” She took a quick glance sideways to gauge his reaction.

  A muscle in his face twitched, but she couldn’t read his expression. Was he angry?

  “That’s what I get for being chivalrous.” He twisted around to check behind him before he backed up, and his glance skimmed her face. He burst out laughing. “Don’t look so worried. I’m a single man with a decent job and all my hair. The ladies of the town have been trying to marry me off for years.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” She slumped in the seat and blew out a breath. “I couldn’t believe how fast the gossip started. It’s kind of ridiculous.”

  “Gossip is the lifeblood of a small town. Sometimes it can be useful and sometimes it can be hurtful, but you can’t stop it. Does it bother you?”

  “No, I’m flattered. I’ve caught the town’s most eligible bachelor in my snare.”

  “Not the most eligible. That would be Rodney Loudermilk. He owns the Rhododendron Bank.”

  “In that case, I’ll drop you like a hot potato as soon as I have Rodney in my clutches.”

  “I have more hair than he does, though.”

  She smiled and smoothed the sleeve of her new blouse, admiring the feel of the green-and-gold-patterned silk. The blouse was a little too fancy for a visit to the stables, but she’d wanted to try out her new clothes on Paul. “You have some great stores in Sanctuary. I had a wonderful time shopping.”

  She’d enjoyed just strolling in and out of the medley of distinctive small shops. Some were old-fashioned, with a layer of dust on out-of-the-way shelves that held carved coal animals and hokey hillbilly postcards with yellowed edges. Others showed careful restoration of oak woodwork and freshly painted tin ceilings. Their shelves displayed vivid handmade quilts and artistically labeled local honey. The rich scents of fresh coffee and warm muffins had lured her into the Bean and Biscuit for a quick treat.

  “We were voted Coolest Small Town in the USA last year.” His voice rang with civic spirit. “Is that pretty blouse from here?”

  Julia felt a glow of smug satisfaction. “Bought it this morning.” In fact, she had maxed out her credit card to purchase it, since she had already loaded herself up with shopping bags. She tended to do most of her shopping online, so trying things on was a heady experience.

  “Let me guess.” He did a quick assessment with narrowed eyes. “Annie B’s?”

  “You’re good.”

  “My mother used to work at the store.”

  “Your mother lives in Sanctuary?”

  “Not anymore. She moved out to Ohio to live with her sister.” He spoke with a slight edge that puzzled her. “She’s unusual that way. Most folks come to Sanctuary and never leave.”

  “You make it sound like an episode of The Twilight Zone.” She deepened her voice to imitate Rod Serling’s portentous tone. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith didn’t just stop for a home-cooked meal. They stopped for the rest of their lives…in Sanc-tu-ar-y.”

  He tossed a look in her direction. “Since you’ve asked me to be your legal advisor, I think we should talk about your uncle.”

  The change of subject was abrupt; she’d touched a nerve. She sighed. “I bought him a gift this morning.”

  “That’s generous of you, all things considered.”

  “I still love him as an uncle, even if he’s messing with my career. He collects antique weapons, and I saw a Civil War–era sword in a store window.”

  He coughed and laughed at the same time. “Don’t forget to wrap a penny up with it, and have him give it right back to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t know the symbolism of a blade as a gift? It means you want to sever the relationship. Unless you exchange money along with it so it becomes a purchase.”

  “So you don’t think I should give him the sword right now?”

  “I think I’d like to see his face.”

  She started to smile. “You know, I would too.”

  “Back to business. If you confront your uncle, do you think he will tell you the truth?”

  “That’s a good question.” She fiddled with the silver band she wore on her little finger. She thought so, but events might have proved her wrong.

  “Would you know if he was lying to you?”

  Julia turned to stare at the blur of trees passing by her window. “No, because it seems like he’s been lying to me all this time, and I didn’t know it. He told me no one would buy my work, when it turns out he wasn’t even offering it for sale. Even if he thought it was for the good of my career, he lied to me.”

  His hand covered the white-knuckled knot of her fingers in her lap. “We all want to trust the people we love. It’s a terrible thing when they betray that trust.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze and returned his to the steering wheel.

  “He nearly destroyed me.” Her voice was ragged. “If someone who loves me would do this to me, it feels like there’s no one I can trust.”

  “You can trust me.”

  The declaration was so simple. She knew it was almost as absurd as Mrs. Bostic having her and Paul marching down the aisle after one day’s acquaintance, yet she believed him. Then she realized what he meant. “You’re talking about that lawyer-client confidentiality thing.”

  “No, I mean you can trust me as one human being to another.”

  She swallowed a couple of times. “That helps.”

  “We’re here,” he said, aiming the car between two handsome brick pillars with wrought-iron lamps atop them. On one pillar, a white sign with simple green block letters read “Healing Springs Stables.”

  “Sharon’s a world-class equestrian,” Paul said. “People send their horses from all over to train here. Which is why we keep her whole whisper horse idea sort of quiet.”

  “Horse whispering is considered perfectly legitimate nowadays,” Julia pointed out.

  “Yes, but this whispering goes from horse to human.” They rumbled up a gravel road between immaculately painted white fences. On either side rolling fields were dotted with grazing horses. He neatly slotted the ’Vette in between a green pickup truck and a silver Mercedes SUV. Julia got out, taking with her the recently purchased tote bag containing her sketchpad and pencils. She’d also brought a point-and-shoot camera to capture colors.

  And the colors were spectacular. Redbrick barns with bright-white trim. All the varied greens and blues of row after row of mountain ranges receding into the distance. The gloss of horses’ coats in every shade from dapple-gray to darkest bay. Even the stable hands contributed to the display, sporting multihued T-shirts that cheered on the WVU Mountaineers or announced the West Virginia State Fair was “bigger and better.”

  Taking it all in, her fingers twitched with impatience as she followed Paul into the dimness of one of the barns. It felt good to be back with her favorite subjects, like coming home.

  “Hey, Taggart, out of my way! You wouldn’t want any of this on that pretty suit of yours,” a stable hand with a blonde ponytail ribbed as she pushed a wheelbarrow of manure past them. “Sharon’s in the office, if that’s who you’re looking for.”

  “Thanks, Lynnie. Good to see you!” Paul said in his smooth ex-mayoral way.

  The young woman paused. “Hey, did Eric get his horsemanship badge?”

  Every angle in Paul’s face seemed to soften as a grin of pride spread across it. “He sure did get that badge, thanks to you. He was the youngest scout in his pack to earn it. In fact, they had to make a special exception to give it to him because he’s only ten.”

 
; “I’ve never seen a kid so determined to do everything on that list of requirements as fast as he could.” Lynnie gave the wheelbarrow a nudge to set it in motion again. “He’s something.”

  “That’s Eric, all right. When he gets an idea in his head, he’s unstoppable.” Paul’s grin remained as he led Julia toward the other end of the wide corridor between the stalls.

  “Who’s Eric?”

  “My nephew.”

  This facet of Paul was unexpected. He seemed so much the urbane man-about-town; she couldn’t picture him enjoying an “unstoppable” ten-year-old boy. Yet his expression said he adored the kid. “I didn’t know you had a nephew.”

  “He’s my brother’s son.” His smile vanished, and she wondered what she’d said to wipe it away. “Here we are,” Paul said, pushing open a door and waving her through. “Sharon, meet Julia Castillo, your favorite horse painter.”

  Julia hesitated a moment, feeling shy. Paul gave her an encouraging smile. She stuck her head in to find a red-haired woman sitting with her booted feet propped up on her desk, drinking a diet soda. As Julia came in, Sharon brought her boots down to the floor and stood up, saying, “Well, I’ll be. Claire’s artist is right here in Sanctuary. Real nice to meet you.”

  She held out her hand, but Julia was staring, wide-eyed. Sharon looked like a flame-haired Amazon warrior princess. Every inch of six feet, she was solid muscle from the biceps swelling under her polo shirt’s sleeves to the cut of her thighs under the snug riding breeches.

  Paul gave Julia’s elbow a little nudge, making her start and hold out her hand.

  Sharon gripped it enthusiastically, saying, “You sure know how to make a horse look like a horse.”

  Unease speared through Julia. “You may not like my new paintings, then.”

  “If Claire likes ’em, I figure they’re darn good. Have a seat.” Sharon sat back down in her desk chair as Paul and Julia took the two wooden chairs across from her. “So you want to use some of my horses as models?”