“Boo, Grandma said wait. Go in the kitchen and get a drink of water if you’re thirsty,” Robin said. Boo pouted and flounced around the side of the house. The baby in Robin’s arms gave Summer a shy smile and hid his face against his mom’s neck. Summer had never thought of herself as a baby person, but she was smitten.
Tom lifted Lindy into his arms, and she hugged him tight. “I know you met Lindy. I saw you talking to her.”
“Yep, pretty lady and I talked lots and lots,” Lindy murmured into Tom’s neck.
Tom winked at Summer. “This is Chad and Robin and little Ben. Behind you are Rick and Tara, and their kids, Carin, Devon, and Derek.”
“Hi everyone.” Summer twisted to make sure her greeting reached all parties, noting a police car had pulled up behind Tom’s truck. Meg stood at the curb being thoroughly kissed by the cop from that car. Summer caught Tom’s attention and tilted her head that direction. “Who’s that?”
“Bret Cara, my partner, Meg’s husband.”
“Ah.” Again, she was swamped with the richness of the couple’s emotions for each other, the sensuous embrace, and the itch to capture it on canvas. She reached up to touch her forehead, sure she must be running a fever. She’d been blank for so long. How was it possible to have so many ideas, so fast? Would they be gone by the time she got home and sketched them from her mind’s eye?
She didn’t have time for an answer. Boo returned from the kitchen and raced across the porch, jumping the steps and bopping to the curb. Meg and Bret had started up the walk and Bret caught Boo in her flying leap. “Hi squirt!”
“Uncle Bret!”
Meg started laughing, and Summer wasn’t sure what the joke was. Maybe it was on her. This family was so tight, so intimate with each other—like they were lifeblood related and heart bound. She had nothing in her experience that compared. She barely remembered her parents, had only ten years with both her grandparents, and then was at odds and estranged from her grandfather from that point on.
In San Francisco, her friendship with Jonathan had been instantaneous, and she considered him her family. But he was an only child whose father had died young and left him wealthy beyond measure. His mother was duchess and a well-known fashion designer who flitted around the globe on a timetable known only to her.
No, definitely Summer didn’t have any experience with this kind of family—and that left her feeling adrift and alone.
A black sedan pulled into the driveway and almost before the car stopped, the woman in the passenger seat flung the door open. A silver-haired woman, tall and regal, flushed in the face, stepped from the car and rushed passed everyone and into the house.
“Helen?” Olivia watched her go, the twinkle dying in her eyes. She looked back across the lawn to Bill, who approached more slowly.
“Yeah, she’s angry with me, Mom. Closed door city council meeting about this new art community she wants to start. Opened my mouth and put my foot in it,” Bill admitted, slumped with tiredness.
Chad put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I thought the vote on that wasn’t for a couple months and there were supposed to be a few more town meetings before it was decided.”
“City council wanted to get ahead of the game, in case the answer is yes. I disagree. I think they should wait until the vote is in before they start all this planning crap. Shouldn’t have said anything. It’s a volatile issue for both of us. I want the vote to be no. Haven’t made any bones about that. Don’t think it’s right for the community.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Don’t need to make a speech. What do I know anyway? I’m just a country lawyer.”
Olivia snorted. “You are no such thing. We’re all tired. It’s this heat. Let’s go in the back yard and get food and drinks. Meg, go talk to your mother and coax her to dinner.”
Meg and Bret, with Boo in his arms, had joined the group. Meg squeezed Bret’s hand and walked past everyone and into the house.
An awkward silence stretched, then Tom broke the moment. “Summer, this is Bret.”
“Meg told me about you. Nice to meet you.” This time she extended her hand for a shake instead of being stuck in a statue pose by nerves.
“Nice to meet you.” Bret let Boo wiggle to the ground.
“Come on, everyone. Let’s get to the table. Food’s ready.” Olivia cajoled and coaxed until everyone moved along the porch.
Lindy and Boo took off like twin rockets on a mission to Mars.
Summer leaned into Tom. “An art community? This is a farming, ranching town,” she said under her breath.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his chin. “That’s a discussion for later. Long story.”
Summer had been in lots of art towns. Echo Falls didn’t really have that artsy ambiance. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she whispered.
Tom gave her a steady look. “Deal.”
££££££
Dusk had come and gone before Tom and Summer left Olivia’s. For Summer, it had been three hours of sheer fun and discomfort. Helen and Bill sat at opposite ends of the table, not speaking, while their kids filled the gap. According to Meg in a brief kitchen conversation, their parents rarely fought in front of people, so this was an aberration. Meg was so worried, Summer felt compelled to hug the woman.
Now in the truck on the way back to her house, she reached out a tentative thread of understanding. “I hope your parents will be all right.”
She heard Tom swallow, but he didn’t respond for a minute. “They’ve been married a lot of years. They’ll figure it out.”
“What about this art community?” The subject had been strictly prohibited by Olivia at dinner. Fortunately, with kids at the table, filling the gaps hadn’t been hard.
Tom sighed, slowing to let a car pass at the intersection. “Echo Falls is a closed community. We’ve been a ranching-farming town for over a hundred years, since the beginning actually.”
Summer knew this. Mr. Snidely, her art teacher in high school, had been a fourth generation Echo Falls resident, and an expert on Echo Falls history. He liked to talk to the kids about family, heritage, and history while they painted.
“Except for the Harvest Moon Festival in the fall, we don’t really have any events to draw tourist and dollars to our town.” He turned in his seat to give her a quick glance. “As you know yourself, lots of young people leave and go elsewhere. We struggle to keep active businesses in the Main Street section of town, all over town really, but especially there. There’s just nothing here to attract tourism and dollars to make improvements without doing something major that will attract people. What that’s going to be is still open for volumes of discussion by smarter people than me.”
Summer huffed. “Don’t try to pull that one. You’re a cop. You have your finger on the pulse of this town. It doesn’t seem to me like it’s on life support.”
Tom rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “It’s holding its own, barely. Both police and fire equipment need updated. Library needs expanding, community pool needs repairs, and we fight for dollars all the time. I understand how my mother feels, but I haven’t made up my mind what’s the right thing yet.”
“Art communities are tricky. You’re playing to a crowd of people that can afford to buy or not buy as the mood strikes them. There’s no doubt it works for some communities, but starting from scratch to pull that off is going to be a lot of work.”
Tom pulled into her driveway. “I know. Enough of that. Are you going to invite me in to show me these fake paintings?”
Summer gave him a considering look. “That sounded like a come-on.”
He chuckled, the mood lightening. “I would hope I could come up with something more original.” The intensity of his gaze swept over her. Heat flashed across her skin like a California wildfire and had nothing to do with the high evening temperature. She cleared her throat and reached for her door handle.
You’re playing with fire with no hose in sight, Summer.
“What did you talk
to Lindy about? She was so focused,” she asked, opening her door. Tom walked around his side of the vehicle and gave her a look she translated to,nice evasion tactic. “She’s a bit nervous about school full-time.”
“Learning to read. She’s afraid her daddy won’t read to her anymore and she likes that.”
Tom paused on the sidewalk in the act of taking her elbow. “How’d you know that?”
“She asked me at the ballgame.”
“And you told her…?”
“That it took a long time to learn to read, and I was sure her daddy would still read to her as long as she wanted him to.”
Tom nodded. “Good answer. Nice job.”
“Thank you.”
He took her hand, that putting her arm through his again thing—so gentlemanly, yet so damn sexy. She shivered every time she touched the warmth of his arm.
Tom took slow measured steps, as if he didn’t want the walk up the sidewalk to end. “Boo’s very…Uh, what’s the word? Exuberant? Outgoing?”
“I could tell,” she said, breathless from brushing hip-to-hip.
“Lindy’s a bit more restrained, shy.”
“And I bet it’s hard to be a twin and people expect they’ll be the same, dress the same, talk the same, do the same.”
“Exactly. I admit they are a pair of dynamite sticks when together, but they aren’t the same. Lindy’s more cerebral. Boo much more active.”
She preceded Tom up the porch steps, and in the yellow glow of the light, began searching for her key. Of course, she couldn’t come right up with the stupid thing. She should have put the key on her rental car ring instead of carrying it loose.
Tom watched her with amused patience.
She grimaced at his expression. “Hold your horses. It’s lost in the black hole at the bottom of my purse.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he said through a chuckle.
“You’re thinking too loud then,” she accused. Her hand closed over the hard metal stuck in the corner of one of the side pockets and lifted the key to the lock. Of course, it wouldn’t turn.
Tom stepped forward. “Let me. It sticks.”
She only had time to shift marginally to the side before Tom was in her space, and she was tucked between the doorframe and his large, warm body. The night was still sultry and hot, and the darkness brought forth a surge of intimacy over the mundane. She had a feeling any time Tom Applegate got this close to her, she’d be melting in her shoes.
This bites.
She wanted to indulge. She wanted to reach for his hand and lace her fingers with his. She wanted to taste his lips just once. But not only was kissing him the road to perdition, it was quite possibly an experience that would forever remain lodged in her memory. Frankly, she wanted…
What the hell do you want, Summer?
The lock clicked, and Tom opened the door. “I can get Bart over here to look at that.”
“Bart McAuley?”
“Yeah.” Tom gave her a quizzical look.
“He was a hundred years old when I was little. He must be dead. Right?”
Tom burst out in laughter, not a polite snicker when amused, not a fake belly laugh, but a strong, genuine laugh. She loved men who laughed. As a source of her initial attraction, the laugh had always gotten her in trouble.
Tom Applegate fell into a category previously unoccupied in her experience. She wasn’t sure she could explain how, but the laughter wrapped around her brain, dropped all her barriers, and skyrocketed the lust to Saturn.
Geesh, get this man out of here! Danger! Danger!
“He’s seventy-two and says they’ll bury him with his tool belt on,” he said.
“He’s a hundred and seventy-two then, and he’s lying.”
He laughed again, pushing the door open and reaching for the light switch like he’d done it a hundred times.
This guy was too good to be true. He was a cop extraordinaire, took care of old people, coached little league, loved his family, and laughed. Where was his Achilles heel? When would the real Tom Applegate pop up—the Neanderthal every woman knew was lurking in the shadows?
“Are we going to stand on the porch all night or go in? Because I can think of a few porch activities that have nothing to do with just standing here.” He gave her a simple smile, innocent as a fox.
As a cattle prod, his suggestion worked. No kissing on the front porch. Nuh uh. She stepped away from him. She got the feeling he had let her.
He fidgeted for a second. “How would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“A date?”Okay Summer, that squeak just will not do.
“Yes, a date. I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll eat, talk, and get to know each other.”
Her heart and mind went into immediate war. She told her mouth to say no, but her heart won the battle. “That sounds great. I’d like that.”What the hell?
She didn’t take her acceptance back though. Instead, she passed him, deliberately brushing up against him, enjoying the sharp breath he took, but then cursing her body when it reacted too. Flirting was definitely out. She was in over her head and drowning. A date? What in the world was she smoking?
Tom closed the door behind them and the intimacy of the porch followed them into the silent house.
“The paintings are upstairs in my grandmother’s sewing room. You want something to drink first?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a bottle of water.”
“Fine. I’ll get it.” And take a moment to take a deep breath and remember who you are.
He didn’t move from the hallway. He could have. He certainly knew where everything was, but he waited for her. She dropped her purse on the yellowed Formica counter-top and pulled open the fridge, taking out two bottles of water and indulging in a few breaths of cold refrigerator air.
She was about to turn and go back to the entryway when the doorbell rang.
Who?
She hurried back through the dining room and into the entryway, turning the corner in time to see Tom open the door.
“Can I help you?” Tom asked, with that deep baritone cop voice.
Jonathan stuck out a hand. “Jonathan Freeman. I’m Summer’s manager and friend.” Jonathan, always smooth and affable, didn’t even blink an eye at Tom. He looked past Tom to Summer. “Hi,cher. I believe I told you I could find the house.”
Tom raised a brow in her direction, questions clouding his perfect blue eyes. The laughter was definitely gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Summer gave Jonathan a quick hug. “Tom, this is Jonathan. Jonathan, Tom Applegate.” Jonathan acknowledged Tom again and jiggled his briefcase. “I have pictures.”
“Swell,” Summer said. “More forgeries.”
“Well, now that your people are here, maybe I’d better go.” Tom reached for the doorknob.
“No. This is a perfect time for us to discuss this problem together.” She tookhisarm for a change and pulled him back toward the stairs, water bottles forgotten where she’d dropped them on the hall table.
She yanked him up the stairs behind her. “Come on, Jonathan. Now.” Her patience had evaporated, she was tired and heart sick and confused with a capital C.
At the top of the stairs, she released Tom’s arm and turned into the sewing room. She flipped the light switch, flooding the room with harsh light against the gathering darkness outside. The lace curtains were even more yellowed against the brightness. The whole room was shabby, a fact that made sadness well in her throat.
She’d leaned her paintings on the opposite wall from the fake ones. Jonathan took one look at the arrangement and discerned the fake ones. He stepped to the paintings and squatted down. He leaned in, nose almost on the painting and examined every inch. His intensity sent goose bumps down her spine.
“They were in the attic. Amazing the heat didn’t destroy them,” Summer said.
Tom stayed behind her for a moment, brushing against her, as if he wanted to cradle her against his body. Her body was
saying yes, her mind was saying no. Then he too stepped to the paintings.
“My grandmother’s house,” he said with awe in his voice.
“We’ve got a problem here.” Jonathan rose, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Ya think?” She stepped between the two men and told herself ending up closer to Tom was only a coincidence.
“I don’t understand how you can tell the difference. They look like yours,” Tom said.
Summer sat on the edge of the day bed. “First, I may not remember every picture I painted, but I remember the ones I didn’t. I never did Main Street, and I never saw your grandmother’s house until tonight. Not that I remember anyway. Plus, these don’t have my signature and date on the back.” Jonathan’s brow furrowed. He pulled one of the canvases forward to confirm.
She shifted as Tom sat on the bed next to her, trying to stay focused on the problem at hand instead of Tom’s solid presence. “I marked all the canvases with my signature on the back. I painted at school a lot. Didn’t want anyone stealing my supplies. Later, I kept the signature on the back by habit in order to not mar the painting content.”
Jonathan stepped across to the other paintings and looked at the markings. “The problem here is these are damn close to your style. So were the ones in Florida.” He snapped open his briefcase and handed Summer three eight-by-ten glossies.
Summer sorted through the photos. “Slade's Antique Store. The fire station.” She frowned over the third one. “I don’t know this place.” She handed the photo to Tom.
Tom studied the picture and handed it back. “Crown Room, a bar out in the canyon. Seedy territory. You definitely wouldn’t have done that one. Walter would have had a few words about your safety if you had.”
Jonathan swore. “Echo Falls work again. We’re checking the other three that were sold from that gallery.”
Tom pointed at the fake paintings. “Other than the markings, I still don’t get how you knew. What makes these different if they look just like yours?”
She studied the pictures again. “Composition. The composition is slightly off. Take your grandmother’s house. That’s not what I would have done.” Summer bit her fingernail. Insecurities from childhood, hell insecurities as an artist, pummeled her psyche.
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