Picture this (Birds of a Feather Book 3)

by Lena North

  Throw it away, I meant to add, but he interrupted me.

  “Wants it? She’ll frame it and put it on her front door, Mary.”

  Wow. It was a drawing of a cat, so I was a little overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, although I guessed it was mostly because I’d helped him with the specials.

  “Let me see,” Miller said and pulled the paper out of Jack’s hand.

  He looked at it for a long time, and then he looked at me. His eyes had softened, and he looked so sweet I suddenly felt like crying.

  “Baby,” he murmured and stretched the paper out toward Jack.

  Then I was tucked to his side, we said our goodbyes and left Norton. I fell asleep in the car and woke up when Miller put me on the couch in Bo and Carson’s living room. It was dark outside, but he’d turned on a few lights and tucked a blanket around me.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  I just looked at him. The soft light reflected in his brown eyes and he smiled. Unable to stop myself, I raised a hand and moved it over his cheek. He froze, and I wanted to kick myself. I’d been caught up in a fantasy again, and I was about to apologize when he slowly leaned forward.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Mary,” he murmured.

  “Okay,” I breathed, and then he did.

  My mind went completely blank, and when he pulled back, I didn’t know what to think. The kiss had been fantastic, but I couldn’t interpret the look on his face. Then he smiled crookedly and murmured, “I wasn’t going to do that.”

  “I didn’t mind,” I whispered.

  His smile widened, but he didn’t kiss me again, and then he moved away.

  “Sweet dreams,” he murmured, got to his feet and left.

  I lay there, wondering what had happened, and why he hadn’t stayed with me, although I realized quickly that he’d been right to move away. For us to start anything at all would be incredibly stupid. Kit wouldn’t exactly be overjoyed, and I guessed that Miller knew just as well as I did that when it ended, everyone around us would be impacted. Maybe I could move back to Prosper, and we could meet there, I thought. None of the others had to know, and it wasn’t any of their business who I spent my time with.

  C

  hapter Nine

  Snake

  When I woke up the next morning, Olly was sitting in a chair next to the couch, reading. He looked relaxed, and to my surprise, he wore glasses.

  “Hey,” I whispered and stretched.

  He turned his head slowly to look at me.

  “Don’t be afraid of me, Mary,” he said quietly.

  I remembered how he had looked that day when they rescued me, and how there had been bleeding men all over the floor. That whole situation had been scary, but I knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t hurt me.

  “I’m not afraid, Olly. Even then, in that place, I wasn’t afraid. Not of you,” I said.

  “I lost my temper,” he muttered, watching me warily.

  I could see that he was very uncomfortable, but having been on a massive killing spree that you couldn’t quite control would probably not be something you wanted to re-hash.

  “I think that would qualify as the understatement of the year, Olly,” I said calmly and got to my feet. “I’m here if you want to talk, and if you don’t, then that’s fine too. Coffee?” I asked over my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen.

  “I hear you enjoyed Norton,” he said when he joined me.

  “I didn’t exactly see Norton, but I did enjoy Jack’s coffee shop,” I corrected him.

  “Norton enjoyed you,” he said.

  “What?” I asked into the fridge where I was surveying our breakfast options.

  “It’s all over the village, Mary. How Miller blew into town with a tiny girl, who had him wrapped around her little fingers.”

  Oh, shit.

  “Pancakes or French toast,” I squealed as if I hadn’t heard him.

  “Mary…” he rumbled.

  “Or eggs,” I said desperately. “Eggs has plenty of protein,” I continued and kept babbling, “You have a lot of muscles. Protein is good for muscles.”

  He pulled me backward gently and closed the fridge. Then he turned me and pushed my chin up until I faced him.

  “Everyone is happy, you know that, right?”

  “Sure,” I chirped.

  “You don’t look happy,” he said.

  “I’d be happy if you told me what you want for breakfast,” I snapped.

  “Pancakes,” he said after a while, and I got to work making him the damned pancakes.

  I wondered where Miller was but didn’t want to ask, and Olly didn’t tell me. Then Carson came home, looking like a worn our dish rag, and Olly left.

  That night I decided it was time to face what life would be like when I went back to my apartment. I’d given it a lot of thought and decided that I’d leave before Bo came back, so I’d stay one more night and then I’d pack my things and leave.

  I told Carson I was going to sleep in the room I kept my things in, and that I’d be fine. The room wasn’t small, the bed was huge, and there were three lamps beside the one in the ceiling. I turned all of them on and opened the window. Then I thought that someone might crawl into my room through the window, so I closed it again. Then I closed the blinds.

  “Get a grip,” I muttered to myself and lay down on the bed.

  I must have dozed off because a feeling of water washing over my face woke me up. There was a putrid smell of mud in my nostrils, and a strangled cry pushed its way over my lips as I sat up, only to find myself in Bo and Carson’s pink guest room. I scooted backward until my back was pressed against the wall, and forced myself to breathe slowly. It took a few agonizing minutes but I made myself calm down enough to lay down, and it took some time to fall asleep again, but I did. I woke up two more times, but each time it was easier to relax, and when I woke in the morning, I was tired but happy. I would manage moving back to my own place.

  Miller sat at the kitchen table, and my heart skipped a beat.

  “Hey, when did you come back?” I asked casually.

  “An hour ago,” he replied.

  I turned to get coffee when he didn’t say anything else, and my mind raced.

  “Olly said…” I started quietly because he needed to know what I’d heard. “They’re gossiping about me in Norton.”

  “Yeah, they would,” he sighed. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll talk to them.”

  “Okay,” I said, wondering what he’d tell them and not feeling okay at all.

  I turned around, and our gazes met, but then Carson walked in, and I turned to smile at him.

  “I need to go to Prosper,” I chirped. “I have assignments to hand in, and I should go to my place.”

  I was planning to call from my condo, and let them know I’d stay there a few days.

  “I’ll take you,” Miller muttered.

  “I can drive if someone would just tell me where my car is,” I said sourly because him driving me would destroy my plans to stay in Prosper.

  He also didn’t look exactly excited about the prospect of spending a few hours with me.

  “Baby, don’t call that piece of shit a car,” he snorted. “It’s insulting to all other cars in this world. And I’ll take you.”

  “Miller,” I said.

  “Mary,” he replied.

  “Children,” Carson said and opened the fridge.

  I tried to argue, but since my car apparently was stored somewhere my arguments fell flat, and we drove down to Prosper after breakfast. It took five minutes to hand in my assignments because the other students were away for the summer. The few teachers who were there had heard that I’d had pneumonia, but they assured me I looked good, and the looks they gave Miller told me that they thought he looked good too, which he did. He wore black jeans, and a tight gray tee and one of his tattoos showed just beneath the edge of the arm, making him look more like the badass he was with Hawker, and less l
ike the veterinarian he was in Norton.

  When we closed the doors behind us, I stopped and turned to look at a wooden bench by the Library. The sun was out, and there wasn’t anyone around. I decided to tell him about a part of where I came from, and that would be a good place to do it.

  “Can we sit over there for a while?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  We sat in silence, and I raised my face toward the sun, smiling a little.

  “There used to be dumpsters here,” I said.

  “What?” he asked lazily.

  “Before they built the art department, there used to be dumpsters here,” I said, and added, “I used to sleep between two of them. Right here.”

  I turned to look at him, and he looked at me with his brows high on his forehead.

  “Did Wilder tell everyone about my family?” I asked, knowing that she would have.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry, baby,” he added.

  “Me too,” I said. “They sent me to foster care, Miller, and I know there are good foster parents,” I paused a little and told him, “I just didn’t end up with any of those.”

  “Shit,” he muttered, but I turned to look straight ahead, and continued talking.

  “I was placed in three families, and they were bad. Really bad, Miller. To be fair, though, I wasn’t easy for them to handle. I hated the world, so I was angry all the time. I looked awful too,” I said.

  “Pretty sure you didn’t,” he murmured and took hold of my hand.

  “I was so full of grief,” I said. “I’d lost so much, and everything was warped in my mind. My family was going grocery shopping when they –” my breath hitched, but I kept talking, “I couldn’t eat for months without feeling nauseous. In my mind, I saw that shopping list Mom had written, every time.”

  I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes, so I kept my eyes focused on a tree right in front of me.

  “I lost everything that day, and Mom used to brush my hair, so I cut it off.” He made a sound, but I ignored that, wanting to get it all out. “I took a knife and cut it off. That didn’t work so well for my foster mother, and it took a few weeks for the bruises to heal, but then they put me in another family. One that was worse.”

  “You were beaten?”

  “Yeah. A lot, Miller. So, they moved me again, but then I turned thirteen, and the dad in the last family tried to…”

  “Oh, honey,” he whispered when I trailed off, and I felt the hand holding mine twitch.

  “I ran away. He put his hand on my thirteen-year-old butt once, and I’d heard the other children talk about him. I knew exactly what lay ahead and I couldn’t do it, so I ran away. Lived on the streets down in Southie, found food in dumpsters, stole some, fought for the rest. Then I got a big makeup kit from one of the women, and she taught me how to use it. I thought she was so nice, but…”

  “She wanted you to look older,” Miller said grimly, clearly understanding that my friend had been a hooker and had planned for me to be the same.

  “Yes, although she did it out of kindness. She wasn’t going to use me, Miller. She wanted to help, and that was the only way she knew how to make money.”

  “Fu –” he started but clamped his mouth shut and glanced at me.

  “Couldn’t do that either,” I snorted. “But I looked older, and could pass as sixteen, at least with the fake ID I got, so I started working as a waitress, here and there. Coffee shops, lunch places.”

  “And you slept here?” he asked quietly.

  “Mostly,” I answered, and turned to him. “Then someone saved me. They took me away and gave me a place where I could belong. Taught me that life was so much more than surviving. They taught me how to live.”

  I smiled at him, and he raised a hand to brush back a few tendrils of hair that had escaped my braid.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said.

  “I thought you should know,” I whispered. “I didn’t tell Wilder. I don’t want to.”

  “Then don’t,” he said. “None of their business.”

  “I don’t want to see their pity,” I murmured.

  “Baby, you wouldn’t. You’d see pride,” he stated immediately, and when I looked up at him, he explained. “I don’t pity you. I feel sorry that you had to go through that, but I mostly feel awe that you made it and pride that you’re so strong despite everything.”

  He leaned down and pressed his cheek to mine, and whispered in my ear, “Resilient, Mary. I saw it but had no damned clue where you got it from, and I’m sorry.”

  We sat in silence for a while, and then I sighed. I had more things to tell him.

  “I’ll move back to my place,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I need to get back to my life again,” I murmured. Then I gathered all my courage and whispered, “Maybe you could come there?”

  “What?” he said.

  I thought his voice sounded angry but refused to look at him.

  “The others wouldn’t have to know,” I explained.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

  My heart sank, and I realized I’d misunderstood. He wasn’t interested in me. He’d been stuck with an injured leg and only me as company, so –

  “Mary, look at me,” he said, and when I didn’t, he used a hand to move my head around until I was facing him. “I’m not going to sneak into your place behind everyone’s backs like a dirty secret,” he said harshly.

  I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to see the angry look in his eyes.

  “Okay,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Baby, look at me,” he said again, and I opened my eyes.

  He didn’t look angry anymore, and I tried to smile.

  “We have nothing to hide, you get that, right?” he asked.

  Of course, he was right about that. We’d spent some time together, and shared a brief kiss, that was all. I was making too much out of it, and I realized that I was acting like an idiot.

  “Yes, of course, I do,” I said happily, and got to my feet. “We should go back.”

  He gave me a long look but got up too, and grabbed my hand, tugging me along.

  “Good,” he said, and added, “A few of Willy’s paintings are hanging in the library.”

  I knew that, though I hadn’t expected him to know.

  “Want to take a quick look at them before we find somewhere to get lunch?”

  I nodded mutely, and he grinned at my astonished face.

  “Bo told me,” he said. “No way I would have known if he hadn’t.”

  I was smiling as we walked up to the last of the paintings. I had loved it for a long time and had spent a lot of time reading in the library until they closed, and I had to go outside to sleep. I’d always tried to find a chair that faced the painting, and I’d sat for hours watching the old woman in a deep blue dress sitting so serenely at a table where there were a book and a bowl full of dark red roses.

  Then I straightened, took a step forward and leaned in close to the painting.

  “It’s fake,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Someone has replaced it with a copy. This is not the right painting.”

  Then I walked over to the visitor’s desk and told them to call the director of the art museum and the police.

  The police got there first, but shortly after, a man rushed in and introduced himself as the man responsible for the art hanging in the University buildings. He didn’t believe me, and when I insisted and pointed out what was wrong, he got impatient and told me about all his degrees, and his experience. When we’d argued for a while, Miller pulled his phone out from his pocket, pressed the screen and put it to his ear.

  “Wilder? Yeah, babe, Mary says one of Willy’s paintings in the library is fake, and the head douche in this place is being an ass about it. Talk to him?”

  Then he calmly stretched the phone out to the man, and I saw how a c
ouple of the officers turned away to hide their grins. I don’t know what Wilder told the University official, but it took less than two minutes and then he stared at the screen.

  “She hung up on me,” he said, dumbfounded.

  “I expect she did,” Miller said affably and picked the phone out of the man’s hand.

  The officers didn’t even try to hide their chuckles, and then a report was filed, the painting was taken down, and we were assured that analysis would be performed immediately. After that there was nothing for us to do, so we got in the car and drove home.

  Carson put a couple of plates on the table the second we stepped through the door, and he and Bo joined us, drinking coffee and listening as we told them about the painting.

  “Will they find the one who did it, you think?” Carson asked his brother, but I answered him.

  “If it was done locally then it won’t be that difficult.”

  They stared at me, and I grinned.

  “It’s a small country, so the art community is not huge. It’s also not as easy to create a replica as you’d think, at least not if the original is more than, say ten years.”

  “Really?” Miller said and filled his plate for the second time.

  “Being a decent painter isn’t enough. You need to know about changes to colors with age, and what kind of brushes the artist used, the right canvas, and so on. There’s probably less than ten painters alive in the country that could have done what we saw today.”

  I laughed at their surprised faces, and added, “I’ll probably be on their short-list.”

  “Really?” Miller repeated, but he did it grinning.

  “Yeah,” I said. “There are a few more in the art department at the University, and some others…” I thought about it and added, “There was a woman at the department, years ago, although they still talk about her. Apparently completely useless at creating her own work. Clichéd and boring seems to be what most thought, though word was that she was exceptional at recreating what others did. There’s an old guy in one of the villages by the sea too. A natural according to gossip, which isn’t always reliable.”

  Then I filled my own plate with seconds and continued eating.