by Bella Andre
As soon as she walked in, she got to work hooking up the MIG, the TIG, and the compressor, hanging her tools on the pegboards, and setting out her barrels of nuts, bolts, and screws. This was always what she taught her students--to start each project by being as organized as possible. Because once the vision kicked into overdrive, you wouldn't want it to end up flying out of your brain because you had to stop to look for something in your workshop.
That was when she found the barrel of plastic monkeys Sebastian must have slipped in. Laughter bubbled up and over, joining the desire that was still humming inside her from the night before. Her lips tingled from his kiss, and she swore she could smell him too--that luscious, sexy smell all his own.
"Okay, it's time to get to work," she chided herself.
"You know what they say about all work and no play."
She darn near jumped out of her steel-toes. "You scared me." She put her hand to her chest, her heart beating hard and fast, and not just from fright. He really was the most beautiful man she'd ever set eyes on, yummy enough to eat. His white polo shirt showed off his tanned, muscular arms. Moments before, her fingers had itched to start a few welds, but now all she could think about was kneading his flesh like a purring cat.
Then she whirled, pointing at the barrel. "Oh my God, the monkeys." She laughed. "I love them."
Something decadent and delicious sparked in his eyes as his gaze played over her mouth. "I wanted to hear you laugh, just like that."
An answering flame flared up deep inside her. She could almost taste last night's kiss, and she knew he was remembering it too, as his eyes traced her lips. She was in danger of diving on him if she didn't say something. "Well, a barrel of monkeys will certainly do that to me."
"Actually, I came down to see if I could help."
Given that fluttery feeling she got whenever he was near, she suspected he would be more distraction than help. She shot a glance at his pressed slacks and shirt. "You're not dressed to help."
"You've got me," he said, holding up his hands. "The real reason I'm here is because I wanted my day to start with seeing you."
God, the things he said to her.
I saw only you.
I didn't want to split my attention between you and the road today.
I'm more than happy to tell you again how magnificent you are.
You make it easy, Charlie.
It's a few more minutes with you.
After learning about his parents and the life he'd had as a kid, she'd found so much to admire about him. The way he made her melt from the inside out was like the whipped cream on this morning's coffee, that special little treat that made her taste buds ooh and aah.
She drew in a deep breath because he made her feel lightheaded. Which, she quickly decided, was unacceptable in her workshop despite how much she had come to like being with him. This was her studio while she built the chariot and stallions and she needed to control it. It would be one thing if he were one of her students--she couldn't stop thinking how much fun it would be to bring them here to see what a fully decked-out workshop looked like. But he wasn't her student. He was her patron. And she was here to build him a $100,000 sculpture for his San Francisco high-rise.
"It's nice to see you too," she said as gently as she could, "but--"
"Get out?"
How could she not laugh out loud again? "Actually, if you wouldn't mind helping me move these car doors first, that would be great. And then," she added in a teasing tone, "you can go."
He looked really pleased to get to stay a while longer, and her heart thumped a few extra beats as he carried the doors over to where she wanted them and his biceps flexed big and strong beneath his shirt.
"Are you planning to use these for the chariot?"
"Yup. I can grind them down to bare metal, then shape them."
"Tell me about your equipment."
She loved teaching. Plus, even if she should be kicking him out and getting to work, the truth was that she was glad to spend a few more minutes with him. Laying her hand on the first machine, she said, "This is a TIG welder--that stands for tungsten inert gas. It works on just about any weldable metal, including dissimilar metals. It's also good on round pieces."
"Fascinating," he remarked. "I'm dying to watch you work." His voice was low, and it set off a distinctive thrill inside.
"It will be a while before I begin putting pieces together. I've only just started a diagram. I'll show you." She opened her iPad on the workbench, then tapped an app to display the drawings she'd recently added. "I find a picture, import it, then flesh it out. Mostly I get the feel of the lines of whatever I'm making." She traced her finger along the bunched muscles of a stallion.
He leaned over to put his elbows on the bench, his hip bumping hers. And for a moment, she forgot everything except the feel of him against her...and how good it was. Nearly as good as his mouth had felt on hers the night before.
Giving herself a quick mental shake, she refocused on the tablet. "The app isn't designed for what I'm doing. But it works." She showed him the bit of work she'd already done--a galloping horse and a chariot.
"I've only just hired you for the project and yet you've already put together a vision of it." His gaze roamed her face, as if he were memorizing her features so that he could capture them on canvas. From out of the blue she suddenly found herself wondering if he'd painted any of the artwork in his house, even though he'd never said anything to her about being an artist himself.
"I dream these things at night," she told him. "Right before I go to sleep, I'm planning, visualizing. Then, while I'm dreaming, things are created."
"You're amazing, Charlie."
No one had ever built up her confidence like this. Her father had praised her, and her mother always believed in her, but neither of them had seen the same vision in her work. She tried to do that for her students, whether they were learning a trade to take into the workforce or creating a masterpiece. But for Sebastian, the ability to help a person see his or her own uniqueness was innate.
And so was his ability to make her admit things she hadn't planned on giving away. "I've never had anyone tell me I'm amazing. Or magnificent." She wanted to grab him, kiss him, wrap herself around him. "It's nice. And also a little overwhelming."
"I'm overwhelmed too, Charlie."
When she could get her breath back at his unexpected statement, she had to ask, "Is that a good thing?"
He paused for several long beats. "I hope so."
They were standing together on the precipice of something that had the potential to be great. Unfortunately, she knew from personal experience that great potential could turn to great disappointment really fast.
Finally, she broke the heady silence between them. "I want to visit my mom this afternoon, so I'd better get to work."
"I'd like to come with you." At the mention of her mother, something changed in the air. She couldn't say exactly what, except that he seemed to vibrate, not with tension so much as intent. "If you don't mind."
"That's very sweet of you, but you've already spent so much time with me, and I know how busy you must be with work."
Honestly, the thought of a man who filled his remarkable home with dazzling, priceless art strolling into Shady Lane was horrifying. He would look at the institutional walls, ancient linoleum floors, and cramped rooms and be appalled that she could allow her mother to live there. Shady Lane was clean and passable, but there was none of the luxury he was used to.
He touched her cheek, sending sparks of electricity through her. "You create amazing art. And she created you, so I'd like to meet her."
Lord, he was sweet. So sweet that she felt churlish for saying no, especially when, besides Charlie, her mother didn't get any visitors. Francine Ballard would love to meet Sebastian, a man who would treat her like royalty, give her his whole focus, make her smile.
So despite all the inadequacies shrieking inside her, Charlie said the only thing she could. "She'd like that
a lot."
When he smiled his appreciation, then left her to do her work alone, she actually had to bite her lip to stop herself from begging him to stay.
*
"What beautiful flowers." Francine Ballard bent her head to inhale the fragrance of the blooms Sebastian brought her. "Thank you so much."
Charlie's mother was a tiny thing, her back bent and her fingers crooked, but she had a smile that lit her face. With her curved lips and sparkling eyes, he saw Charlie in her.
"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Ballard," he said formally. "I'm Sebastian Montgomery."
Resting on the seat of her wheeled walker in the nursing home's lobby when they entered, she'd risen at the sight of Charlie, keeping steady with a grip on both handles. "Sebastian, please call me Francine. Let's put my flowers in the lounge so everyone can enjoy them. I'll lead the way."
She signaled her departure, turning the walker and heading past the nurse's station at a slow and steady pace. Despite the pain she must feel with each step, she didn't give up. He admired her tenacity.
"Looking sharp, Albert," she sang out as she cruised past an old man with cataracts that practically obscured his irises. Albert raised his hand in greeting, and Charlie patted his knee as she passed, drawing a smile from him.
Shady Lane was more like a hospital than a home. The floors were plain linoleum, the primary lighting fluorescent, and the chairs populating the lobby and halls resembled those in a doctor's office. The pictures lining the hallway walls had probably been purchased in bulk. Open doorways revealed two beds to a room with only a privacy curtain separating them. TVs were mounted in either corner, competing volumes screeching out into the hallway. Windows in the rooms were small, most with blinds closed. They passed a comatose woman in a bed, her mouth sagging, her curtain open as the nurse adjusted something on her monitor.
He hated himself for thinking it, but this wasn't a home. It was a place people came to die. He understood now why Charlie had stared at the check he'd written as if it were a lifeline. That money would change her mother's life. He wished he'd written double the amount, but he knew Charlie would never have taken it.
"Did you do your walk already today, Mom?" Charlie asked, leaning in close enough to Sebastian to give his heart a kick with her sweet scent.
"Three rounds. One more to go." Francine pointed to the pink bakery box in Charlie's hand, eyes twinkling. "I want to hear all about the sculpture you have planned for Sebastian's building, so let's have tea first."
She parked her walker by the open lounge doors, then moved from chair to chair, holding the back of each one, until she slid onto the cushions of the sofa. At least here, the furniture appeared more comfortable. A larger TV than those in the rooms sat against the wall at the opposite end, surrounded by a grouping of chairs.
"Sorry, Mom, I forgot the china cups and plates," Charlie said as she headed to the coffee service on a long bar against the far wall.
"I'll survive," her mother answered sweetly. When Sebastian set down the vase in the middle of the table, she said, "Lovely--now sit." She patted the sofa beside her, then winced.
"Are you all right?" The sudden pain on her face stole his breath away.
"My hand is simply acting up." She rubbed the center of her palm as best she could with her crooked fingers. "Now tell me all about this marvelous building of yours."
He was still reeling from the pain he'd seen shoot through her, but she was already past it. Amazing. "Charlie's pieces will bring the place to life."
"I hear you have a fountain. And lots of glass to let in the sunlight."
She didn't look longingly toward the window that faced the parking lot, but he knew she needed a garden. Flowers. Sunshine. Charlie would use every penny of her commission to provide those things for her mother.
"Here's your tea, Mom. Sorry about the paper cups." She set down a cup filled with milky liquid in front of her mother and another for Sebastian, the coffee black and steaming.
He smiled his thanks while Francine said, "Don't worry about the china, dear. This is just wonderful." Then she whispered to him as Charlie returned to the coffee bar for her own cup, "She's so good to me. I don't know what I'd do without her. Most people don't receive any visitors at all, but Charlie comes at least twice a week, often more."
He thought of all the lonely people in nursing homes, their final years spent in a bed without a single visitor, a curtain providing their only privacy. It made him appreciate Charlie even more. She wasn't merely a talented artist and a dedicated teacher. She was also a loving daughter.
She carried another cup, plus three paper plates balanced along her arm as easily as if she'd been a waitress in a past life. "I could have gotten that," he said, getting up to take one of the plates.
"I'd rather you two enjoyed chatting with one another." She pointed to the whole bear claw he held. "That one is for you." She handed half a bear claw to her mother and kept the other half for herself.
"We always share," Francine explained. "I could never eat a whole one." She took a bite, eating with a dainty sound of pleasure. "Aren't they to die for?"
He couldn't help but turn his gaze to Charlie as he said, "Totally to die for."
As they ate, he noted that each of Francine's feet was encased in an ankle brace, and her fingers bent at odd angles. When she spoke, her voice quavered as if the muscles of her throat didn't quite work properly. Lines he associated with someone fifteen years older than seventy crisscrossed her face as though her pain had risen to the surface and marked her forever. Yet she chattered happily as if her body hadn't turned against her, and she was dressed in her Sunday best, a pretty blue skirt with a flowered sweater. She told them stories about this resident or that, and they laughed good-naturedly at the antics of the people she lived with. She wanted to know more about his new headquarters and what Charlie would be doing for him. Her mind was sharp, and she was interested in everything.
Last night, after he tossed his sketchbook, he'd opened his laptop and read everything he could about degenerative osteoarthritis, from the Arthritis Foundation to WebMD. He'd looked up eminent surgeons, doctors, facilities. Sebastian understood how it felt to watch one's mother live in such agony. His parents had brought their troubles on themselves, but he'd still felt the pain of watching them fall apart, the anguish of not being able to do anything. He didn't want that for Charlie.
So he would fix it.
*
Her mother had been completely charmed by Sebastian, just as Charlie had known she would be. "Thank you for coming to see my mother. She loved the flowers and all the attention."
"I see where you get your strength, and your joy for life." He gave her a smile before turning his attention back to the road. "Your mother has both in spades."
Sebastian hadn't said a word about the state of the home, but she'd seen his eyes taking in everything, from the floor to the walls to the furniture. He would have had to be blind to miss any of the second-rate accommodations.
"I'm going to call Magnolia Gardens on Monday to put Mom's name on the waiting list. I know she'll love it there. The gardens are gorgeous."
"How long before she'll get in?"
Her own sense of guilt almost made her imagine for a moment that there was censure in his words. "Maybe a couple of months."
"Do they have good doctors?"
They were adequate, but honestly, she was more concerned about the environment her mother would live in. "They're good, but they can't do much for Mom except manage her pain."
He switched lanes on the freeway before saying, "I've been doing some research on the Internet. There's a hand surgeon at Stanford who's the top in his field in severe degenerative osteoarthritis. And an orthopedic surgeon down in Santa Cruz specializes in ankles."
Staring was all she could manage. Charlie didn't blab to everyone about her mother's problems, but she had told a teacher or two, her dean, the secretary. None of them had tried to help before, though. Only Sebastian, who had i
mmediately jumped in.
"I can't tell you what it means to me that you thought of her, even before you met her. But I've taken her to all the doctors. She's past anything they can do." At least nothing she could have afforded beyond what Medicare paid for. Charlie couldn't stop another stab of guilt.
They'd reached their exit, and he let the car roll to a stop at the light. "There could be new surgeries, new treatments that have been developed in recent months. Maybe it won't help. But it couldn't hurt to see the doctors." He looked so earnest.
For her mother's sake, she had to let Sebastian try. Somehow she'd find the money to pay for consultations with these new specialists. Putting her hand over his on the steering wheel, she looked straight into his eyes, held him there a long moment even though the light changed. "Yes. Let's try."
But the new worries about money were already twisting inside her by the time he said, "I'd like to help with Magnolia Gardens too--see if I can grease the wheels to get your mom in earlier."
It wasn't his fault that a chill ran down her arms. Sebastian was the kind of man who would always offer help when he thought it was needed. But he'd already given her a humongous check. She couldn't take any more. Even her mother wouldn't approve if she took money from him she hadn't earned.
"The check you gave me will more than cover her move." And only a few months after that, but she'd somehow figure that out too. "You're doing enough already."
As it was, she didn't know how she'd ever pay him back.
CHAPTER TEN
Charlie clearly hated seeing her mother in pain, hated Shady Lane, hated that she couldn't take care of her mother herself. But Sebastian could help her with all that. If she let him. Maybe he'd pushed too hard about her mother's condition, but what good was his money if he didn't use it to help a woman in pain? Especially when it meant a great deal to him that for one afternoon, she had made him feel he was part of their family, for a little while at least.
That evening, after Charlie politely turned down his request to have dinner together again, Sebastian returned to his drawing. In fact it was that politeness that told him she'd shut down on him, just put up a wall to all the heat and sparks between them.