Stranger In His Bed
Page 16
He’d found her ring on the nightstand. His heart had lurched when he picked it up. She could have gotten a pretty penny for it. The fact that she left it behind said something. Didn’t it?
He ran both hands through his hair. Victoria had admitted that Laurel had refused to take any money. Was she, in fact, the pawn in Victoria’s scheme? Had it been her fault the car was hit by a truck? Had she faked amnesia? No. He couldn’t believe any of that. No one was that good of an actress. She had loved the ranch, the horses, swimming in the mountain pool. All of the things that meant most to him Laurel loved as well. Deep down, Wade knew he would never find another woman who was so incredibly perfect for him. But could he find her? And if he did, would it be wasted effort? Would she even speak to him again after the hateful way he’d treated her in the end?
He reached over and picked up the house phone and dialed the number to his security division. “Matt? I need you to find someone, if you can. As soon as possible.”
* * *
Laurel was so angry at Beth she wanted to hit something. There had been plenty of times she’d said yes to an exhibit of her paintings, but showing those of Wade and the ranch was a big fat loud no. Beth had gone behind her back and done it anyway, arranging it with Mrs. Bridgeman. And it wasn’t as if they were going to be shown in a small exhibit hall. Oh no, they were, at this moment, on their way to Dallas. She needed to get to the art gallery and see if she could protect her privacy and prevent this from happening.
Even though it was only three o’clock in the afternoon, she closed the shop early, flipping the sign from Open to Closed, and hurried to her car. It was a good hour’s drive from Waxahachie to Dallas if she didn’t run into the ever-present road construction. Backing out of the parking space, she put the car in Drive and headed south.
It was almost five when she turned into the parking lot of the art gallery. She noted Beth’s car parked next to the building.
“What do you think?” Beth asked when Laurel finally entered. “Great place, huh?”
“Where are they?”
“In the back. Oh, come on, Laurel, don’t be mad. This is what you’ve worked for your entire life.”
“Not with these paintings. Beth, you don’t understand. I thought you did.”
“Come on. There are some from before your accident and a couple since. They gave you two entire walls. I think it looks spectacular.”
Laurel rounded the far corner, and there they were. Still lifes, landscapes, portraits. The one of the woman sitting on a stone wall holding a rose against the backdrop of a sunset was still one of her favorites. Then, on another part of the wall, there were the landscapes of the ranch. All served to bring the walls to life.
“How long?” Laurel asked Beth.
“The showing is just for the weekend. Well, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”
There were seven of Laurel’s paintings in all. Among the landscapes were smaller, individual canvases focused on smaller things. Like the pinecone hanging from a tree branch, the early-morning dew making it look fresh and crisp.
“That one is adorable.” Beth pointed at the calf with its mother. “And I love the mystery men.” She turned to Laurel, grabbed her arm and spun her around. In front of her were two portraits.
Laurel’s heart dropped to her knees as she stared at the two portraits of Wade Masters. She hadn’t noticed when she was painting them, but Wade was every man; the stern, cold, brooding man of wealth and privilege. Used to commanding a boardroom and governing financial aspects of international corporations, he was a powerful man who expected to be treated to lavish parties and approached about supporting governors and top politicians. The second painting was of a man who was carefree, had no worries other than concerns of family and close friends. This was a guy in worn jeans and an open shirt and whose hair was tousled by the wind. One who would jump on a motorcycle and do wheelies in the dirt, who would throw a saddle on a horse and cut cows for fifteen hours straight. One who was content with who he was and the world around him. A man who judged others by their actions and their word. It was this man Laurel had fallen in love with. It was this man she had hurt.
“Laurel, is that him?”
She could only stare, and a trickle of fear ran through her. If Wade found out about this viewing, he would truly and thoroughly hate her. That being said, he already did. What did she have to lose if he found out? They were, after all, her paintings. Maybe she owed it to the world to let people see what a complex, brilliant and loving man Wade Masters was.
“Yeah.”
“Which one?”
She looked back and forth between the two paintings. “Both.”
* * *
Wade had never seen anything like it. A complete section of the Montrella Art Gallery contained pictures of his home. Detailed paintings of the lower falls and swimming holes, the valleys and the pine groves. Insightful, detailed glimpses of his ranch, captured forever. There was one of the old trappers’ cabin, next to the spring and Stockman’s Ridge with the view of the valley spread out far below.
When he’d first been told that paintings by a new artist were to be included in an exhibit of another artist’s work, he’d look at Sylvia Fields, his senior administrative assistant, like she had grown a second head.
“Do I look like an art connoisseur? Why would I care?”
“Because two of the paintings are of you and I’m guessing the landscapes are of your ranch.”
Laurel had done this. Her skills, perspective and amazing talent had brought the ranch alive. His mother was considered a great artist, but nothing near this scale. He slowly walked the area, looking at each picture, seeing his valley through her eyes. There was great beauty in each scene, even in the painting of the old hunters’ cabin. But it was as he turned the last corner he saw the portraits of himself.
To say he was stunned would be an understatement. There were two paintings. One was the facade he showed to the world; the other revealed the side he kept hidden from all but close friends and family. Laurel had nailed each one perfectly. She had seen through the mask and knew both men intimately.
Only someone who saw the differences in his character, who knew him that well, could have painted his portrait so authentically. She’d painted what she saw. First the cowboy who enjoyed letting his hair down and eating beans around a campfire. Then the hard, cynical businessman he became in Dallas.
“Mr. Masters.” The woman he’d asked about speaking to the artist returned, wringing her hands. Never a good sign. “I’m so sorry, but she just left. I couldn’t find anyone who knew when she would be back. But I can tell you the paintings are not for sale. There was a misunderstanding between the owner of the art gallery, Mrs. Bridgeman, and the artist. These were not intended to be shown. May I give Ms. Dawson a message or a phone number?”
Wade shook his head. “She knows how to reach me. Consider each and every one of these paintings sold. I don’t care what you were told. If Mrs. Bridgeman has a problem with that, she can work it out with my accountant. You will receive a call in a few minutes from Bradley Jarrod, who will arrange for payment and delivery.” He glanced once again at the paintings. “I stress, Mrs. Colbert,” he said, reading her name tag, “do not let one single painting by this artist leave the building other than under my instructions.”
“Of course, sir,” she assured him, a light of excitement appearing in her eyes. “In fact, we’ll close the section so no one else can see them.”
“Good.” Wade turned and headed for the door, Crawford and Jenkins flanking him. They drew glances from others as they walked toward the front door, but Wade ignored it. He had more on his mind than dim-witted people who might be staring. Laurel had been here. The gallery attendant had indicated she’d left only moments before he arrived. If she knew he was here, she’d managed to slip by him. It wouldn’t happen again.
* * *
“Sold?” It couldn’t be. She hadn’t intended for them to be shown, let alone sold.
“You and Mrs. Bridgeman can’t do that. I told you not to—”
“I think it’s okay,” Beth broke in. “They were all sold to one man. I wasn’t there, but I’m betting it was Wade Masters. That’s who’s in the portraits, isn’t it, Laurel?”
Laurel didn’t respond.
“Yeah, I thought so. Anyway, thought I’d give you a heads-up. He asked for you and didn’t look happy when he was told you weren’t here. He and the two men with him, I’m guessing bodyguards, walked out after he’d arranged to buy the paintings. I’ll bet they are headed your way.”
“He doesn’t know where I live.”
“Don’t be dumb. If he found the paintings, he can find you. You love him. I’m guessing he loves you, too. If he isn’t there in an hour, you can say I was wrong and throw it in my face the rest of my life. But you need to talk with him, Laurel. Whatever happened between you needs to be worked out.”
The line went dead.
What had happened at the Masters estate wasn’t something that could be worked out or made better. She had ensconced herself in another woman’s house, assumed her identity and made love with her husband. In fact, she’d fallen in love with her husband. It was all immoral, possibly even illegal. She knew he was hurt. And angry. Put in his position she would be livid.
She was certain he’d heard about the art showing and had gone there to correct a foolish mistake. He’d probably felt required to purchase the paintings to keep his privacy intact. She knew if Wade found out about the exhibit, he would be angry. She should have demanded the paintings be taken down instead of just saying they were not for sale. She just hadn’t expected him to find them so soon.
Regardless of how much he must hate her, Laurel didn’t regret a second of their time together. She still loved Wade deeply. It wasn’t supposed to have happened this way. She should never have met him, let alone had the chance to fall in love with him. And now he thought her a woman as conniving and malevolent as his wife. No doubt he thought she was trying to make money off the paintings of his beloved ranch. Laurel blinked back the tears and gritted her teeth to combat the surge of pain again slashing her heart. Were Wade and Victoria back together? Was Wade holding her in his arms even now? Making love to her? Ironically, all Laurel would ever have of the man she loved were a few precious memories.
She headed into the back room of the paint school, where her current painting was still under wraps. The feel of adding paint to a canvas always helped to soothe her nerves and prevent her mind from wandering to places she didn’t want to go.
But knowing Wade had walked into the art exhibit in Dallas and seen her paintings brought that last night back to the forefront of her mind. The sheer horror of it all. It seemed no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t seem to get it right. First agreeing to Victoria’s scheme, then allowing an opportunity for Beth and Mrs. Bridgeman to waylay her paintings and take them to an exhibition. And Wade had walked into the middle both times.
She selected two brushes and uncovered the canvas. Turning on the extra lights, she scrutinized the painting. Artificial lighting was different from true sunlight. She would have to be careful, but she couldn’t bear to go home. She would just wind up back here after pacing the floor half the night.
“That’s very interesting.”
Spinning around, she faced Wade.
* * *
Even backlit, he could tell she had gone pale. He watched her closely, afraid she would again disappear. The painting she’d been working on was going home with him, and it would remain there until he could figure out what had happened to the brilliant artist whose technique had changed so drastically. He’d fallen in love with the artist who had painted it. And more than anything wanted her back in his life.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, her eyes darting around the room as though looking for a way out. The art room had only one door, and Wade was standing in front of it.
He held up a key. “Thanks to Beth Hamilton.” He tossed the key onto the table. “I was wrong, Laurel. That night. When I told you to go. I was speaking through anger and frustration, and I didn’t mean to direct it at you.”
“Yes, you did. I saw your face.” She began to back up and ease around the large table at the center of the room. “You have every right to hate me. I didn’t know what I was doing at the time, but if I hadn’t been in the wreck, I still would have been at your house. I would still have pretended to be Victoria.”
“Because she threatened you if you didn’t,” he countered and took a step forward. “She came clean about those threats. If the only thing I had in this world was threatened, I would probably give in, too.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re strong. You’re a fighter. I’m not.”
“You’re the strongest woman I know. You are the most honest person I’ve ever met. And I love you, Laurel Dawson.”
She bowed her head, giving it a slight shake, and the tears began to roll down her face.
“Look at me, Laurel.”
She shook her head. “No.”
Then she felt his hand under her chin, slowly raising her face to his. Her lilac eyes glimmered from unshed tears, making them appear almost iridescent. “I think you love me, too.”
She sniffed, unable to confirm what he said for fear it was a ploy.
“So, what are we going to do about this?”
When she didn’t respond, he stepped closer to her and placed his other hand against her face. “Victoria is gone, never to return. Our divorce was final last week. I want you to come home with me. I want us to be as we were before that fateful night. Only this time, you know who you are. You have your memories. I fell in love with you a long time ago. I just mistakenly called you by a different name. Marry me, Laurel Marie Dawson.”
He lowered his face to her, giving her the option of kissing him. With a small whimper, she placed her hand against his chest, and her lips against his. It was as though time had never interfered; they were back living and loving as they had been before. Her lips were hungry, and he was ready and more than willing to fill that hunger.
“Marry me,” he whispered against her lips.
“Yes—”
She barely had the word out before he pulled her hard against him and kissed her deeply, passionately. “I love you so much.” Then he was kissing her again, his body reacting as it had always done to this beautiful woman.
“The paintings.” She broke the kiss. “I didn’t intend for them to be shown. They were only for me. Beth...”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said. “They are coming home with us. They’re beautiful, and I will enjoy looking at them the rest of my life. Someday we may even decide to share them with the world.”
Then he took her left hand and pulled the diamond ring from his pocket and slipped it on her finger. “We will be married tomorrow. I refuse to wait one second longer. Later, if you want a big wedding celebration, you can have whatever you wish. But I don’t intend to wait another full day without knowing legally, spiritually, emotionally—in every way that matters—you are mine.”
Tears filled her eyes as he again pulled her into his arms, held tight in his embrace. His mouth covered hers, and their love soared.
Epilogue
The wedding was held in a small country church on the ranch. Old and forgotten for years, the building had been refurbished, painted and filled with new pews and the restored altar. White roses and mums with matching white ribbons decorated the interior, spilling out into the trees surrounding the church.
Wade’s brothers and their wives were there, along with the ranch hands and a few special friends. It was a family wedding. That was what Laurel
wanted, so that was what Wade had provided.
Although they had been officially married for a couple of months, Laurel had wanted a ceremony that could be shared by their closest friends and family. She arrived at the church in a barouche pulled by two white horses, their harness adorned with matching white roses and ribbons. Wade was waiting at the entrance and helped her from the carriage.
After the ceremony, the party lasted for hours, held in the covered pavilion a mile from the main house. Country music filled the air, and the summer night set the stage for a wonderful evening. “Are you ready to sneak out of here?” Wade asked his bride as they danced. “I need to get you home.” He pulled her close, and she felt his erection against her belly.
“I’ll follow you,” she replied, smiling. She wanted to be alone with her husband and knew the night ahead would be magical. It was always so when she was in his arms.
Wade took her hand, and she marveled again at how strong and warm he was as he led her the few steps to the front door. His car was parked right outside.
“I love you, Laurel Masters.”
She smiled as he started the car and followed the path to the main ranch area, then on to Pine House. When they got there, he helped her from the car, then picked her up in his arms and carried her up the steps and inside the front door. Not pausing there, he went up the stairs and into the master suite.
Setting her down, he lost no time removing the beautiful silk gown and the diamond-encrusted pin that held her hair, cascading slowly past her shoulders.
Laurel removed his silk shirt and bow tie and pulled at his belt, unzipping his pants. Wade kicked out of his pants, cupped her face with his big hands and brought his mouth down over hers. Laurel was lost. She fell deep into his arms and kissed him back with all the love she felt for this great man.