“I’m not trying to push you or anything, but I’ve seen the busts you’ve done and they are truly magnificent. The young boy looks so...alive. And the man with the mustache—the feeling you put into his face, the care and detail—the look you captured is marvelous.”
“I...thank you again,” Heather said, reeling from the impact of the man’s description of Reid.
“I just wanted you to know I appreciate your work. And I also would like to invite you to have a showing in New York at my gallery,” the man stated suddenly, again catching Heather off guard. Laureen’s hand tightened in warning on Heather’s arm and Heather smiled at the man.
“That would be very nice, but of course it would be up to Gwen,” she stated matter-of-factly. “She is my representative.”
“Of course,” Malcolm Samuels said politely. “I just wanted to know if you’d be interested.”
Heather smiled at him but did not miss the slight change in his voice as he had spoken. Although she and Gwen had not yet spoken about a representation contract, Heather had already made up her mind. No matter what Heather’s personal problems, she trusted Gwen implicitly.
“Are they all like that?” Heather asked Laureen after Samuels had gone.
“Actually, he’s one of the better ones.”
“Oh,” Heather sighed, wondering again about the world she was entering.
“How’re you doing?” Tom Farley asked as his hand replaced Laureen’s and guided her away from the main crowd.
“Fine, I guess—a little strange, but I’m doing all right.”
“I feel pretty strange myself. I’m not used to these artsy-type people,” he admitted.
“They’re not that different from the people you worked with before you came to the ranch,” Heather said.
“They’re different enough,” Tom replied, and Heather heard the hidden plea in his voice.
“They’re just people, Tom—not any stranger than we. They talk about different things and dress a little fancier, I imagine, but they’re just people.”
“They are very different than we are, Heather—very much so.” Suddenly she knew what was bothering Tom. She stopped for a moment and listened for voices around them. When she felt they were as alone as possible in this crowd, she spoke softly and earnestly to him.
“Tom, you can’t let something like this interfere with your feelings. It doesn’t matter about these people, the way they talk or dress. The only thing that really matters is the way you feel, the way Gwen feels, and, after that, the way Gregg feels.”
Tom didn’t respond immediately and Heather hoped she hadn’t overstepped her boundaries with him. A few seconds later Tom shifted uneasily on his feet and spoke.
“I left this type of life five years ago and I found something that I had been missing. I love working on the ranch and I don’t know if I want to leave it.”
“No one is asking or telling you to leave it. But you also have to think about the future—yours and Gregg’s —and if you want Gwen to be a part of it.”
“It’s not easy,” Tom admitted.
“No, nothing important is. But, if you want something badly enough, you have to work hard to make it happen. Part of that work is in understanding the other person and the other person’s needs.”
“Heather, about Reid,” Tom began. Heather’s breath caught at Tom’s mention of his name, but she quickly hid her reaction. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “But I’ll remember what you just said, and I’ll think on it.”
“Please do just that,” Heather said, but her mind was still churning from the mention of Reid’s name.
Tom started to guide Heather back to the main crowd, but she stopped for a moment as her fingers brushed against bronze. She realized they had been standing next to the sculptures of Gregg, Tom, and Reid.
Unable to stop herself, her fingers traced over Reid’s face for a moment. Far away, she heard Tom call her name. She nodded slowly as she pulled her hand from the bronze and again gripped the glass.
Tom walked with her into the main flow of the party. Heather answered the myriad questions directed at her, smiled, and nodded knowingly at those who talked about well-known artists and their works. Soon she had again reached a wonderful state of separation from those around her as she mingled with the crowd but allowed her mind to float above it, still fighting deep with her heart to keep the recurring thoughts of Reid Hunter away from her mind.
“Holding up okay?” Gwen whispered into her ear as the party began to dwindle.
“I feel like I’m ten feet tall and growing,” Heather replied in a matching whisper. “I find it difficult to believe so many people like my works.”
“Why? I already told you they would. And I know! Besides, I have five deposit checks in the office already.”
“Five…” Heather repeated as she sucked in her breath. “That’s good, I think,” she said as a feeling of elation rode alongside one of loss for those pieces she would never touch again.
“Good? Good? No, it’s not good—it’s wonderful!” Gwen stated excitedly. “Heather, it’s an excellent start.”
“Which ones?”
“The Unicorn and four abstracts: Mother Lode, Desert’s Cry, Guinevere, and Destiny’s Hand,” Gwen told her.
Heather smiled at first. She had sculpted The Unicorn after reading a short story about a magical unicorn and a leprechaun. The work had been fun and the finished product had drawn praise from everyone who had seen it. It stood twenty-seven inches tall and three and a half feet long. Its single horn had tapered almost to the thinness of a small nail. She was glad someone had bought that piece.
The sale of the abstracts surprised her. Usually it took a while before a sculptor was able to sell his abstracts. Abstract collectors wanted the work of artists who already had a good reputation.
“Well?” Gwen prompted after a few minutes.
“I was just wondering why the abstracts sold instead of the realistic pieces.”
“Because, my dear innocent, the people can see your talent is not the average. You will become important in the art world, and they want to be in on the ground floor. Abstract sculpture to them is an investment in the future.”
“Meaning they buy cheap and sell high.” Heather laughed at her words, not really sure if she meant them.
“If you call an average of ten thousand dollars cheap, then yes.”
“Ten thousand?” Heather asked, her jaw dropping at Gwen’s words.
“Each.”
“Don’t joke.”
“When we discussed pricing, you told me you didn’t know a thing about it. You said I should take care of that. I did. The Unicorn went for seventy-five hundred.
“The abstracts from nine thousand to twelve thousand,” Gwen informed Heather in a lilting, superior, yet jocular manner.
“Oh….”
“The five pieces,” Gwen continued proudly, “together brought a gross of forty-nine thousand, eight hundred and fifty dollars,” she said, whispering so only Heather would hear.
“I…I…” Heather said, trying to adjust to the fact people would pay that much money for what had given her so much enjoyment.
“That’s a good response. Keep it that way in the future,” Gwen said as she placed her arm around Heather’s waist. “Now, do you believe me?”
“Believe you about what?”
“How talented you are.”
“I guess so...This wasn’t a fluke?” Heather asked. “It’s supposed to take years and years to sell your work for so much.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. These people who bought tonight, and who will buy during the next weeks, are getting a bargain and they know it. Right now, your work is selling inexpensively. In a year the price will be...I won’t even try to guess,” Gwen finished, pulling Heather close before releasing her.
As Heather thought about what Gwen had said, the gallery seemed to quiet down magically, and suddenly Heather knew her first show had ended for t
he night. She felt a wave of calm repose wash over her and breathed a sigh of release. It was over and she had survived. In fact, she had even enjoyed some parts of it.
“Gather ’round everybody,” Gwen called. Heather felt Emma’s hand on her arm and let her friend guide her. “The party is over and it’s time to drink to our success. Where’s Gregg?” she asked suddenly, concern edging her voice.
Tom chuckled. “He and Polaris are sound asleep in the corner across from your office.”
“Why didn’t you put him on the couch in the office?” Gwen asked with motherly concern.
“He was comfortable and out of the way, and he wanted to watch everything. He’s fine,” Tom finished, and Heather heard the warmth in his voice. She knew it was not just for Gregg.
“In that case, shall we go on with the celebration?”
Laureen gave everyone glasses, Heather heard a cork pop, and they all cheered. Polaris woke, barked several times, and everyone laughed at his joining in. But, Heather thought it strange he didn’t come over to them. Too many strangers, she thought.
After pouting the champagne, they held their glasses high, each person touching Heather’s glass first and then each other’s.
“To the continued success and long career of Miss Heather Strand, artiste extraordinaire!” Gwen toasted.
“Amen,” came Tom’s reply, quickly followed by everyone else’s.
Heather took a long sip from her glass, enjoying the feel of bubbles bursting at her nose and liking the chilled dry taste of the champagne. Suddenly she felt tired and, one at a time, she kicked off the black pumps. No sooner had she finished her first glass than more was poured.
“No more,” she pleaded. “I’m getting dizzy already.”
“Get used to it,” Gwen ordered. “This is only the beginning. And in the future try to eat something during the day!”
“I think I have a lot to get used to,” Heather responded, and smiled, but took only the barest sip of champagne. A wave of sadness hit and tried to shake it away. “I think I’d like to change into my regular clothing now. I’m feeling really bushed,” she said.
Turning, she walked to the office. As Heather opened the office door, she heard the front door open and close. Suddenly Polaris barked.
“Polaris,” she called. The large shepherd was between her and the front door, but did not come immediately to her. The people behind her saw the dog hesitate, its tail wagging. “Polaris!” she called again. Polaris finally turned and came to Heather’s side.
“It took you long enough,” she said in a low, chiding voice. “Heel,” she ordered as she stepped into the office. Shrugging, Heather closed the office door, and before undressing, she sat on the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realized how tired her feet and legs were. The opening-night party was not an easy task, but it was thrilling just the same, she thought. There had been only one thing missing, but he would be missing forever.
Gwen watched Heather’s retreating until she heard the door open. Then Laureen tugged on her elbow. She looked, and froze, as did everyone else. Her eyes widened momentarily as the man stepped into the light. Hazel eyes met hazel eyes and suddenly everyone in the gallery stopped breathing. Gwen saw Reid look at her and then at the others. He stayed silent as he watched Heather close the door to the office.
Slowly, purposefully, Reid nodded to everyone and walked to the door behind which, Heather had disappeared. Crossing the small space, Reid was conscious of the looks of disbelief on everyone’s faces, but he no longer cared what anyone thought or said. He had only one thing on his mind. Nothing else mattered.
“Here we go,” muttered Emma in a low voice as Reid opened the office door and stepped inside.
TWENTY-TWO
Sighing gently, as if the sigh could give her strength, Heather decided she must make her tired body move. It was time to change out of the dress and to leave the gallery for the night. Before she could gather enough energy to stand, she heard the office door open and close. Polaris stayed at her feet, but she felt his tail wag. She waited to hear a voice, but there was only silence.
“Yes?” she asked, expecting either Emma or Gwen to reply.
“You look lovely tonight, but that doesn’t compensate for your lack of manners. Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s impolite to hang up in the middle of a conversation?”
Heather felt a rush of dizziness sweep through her at the sound of Reid’s voice, but her fast-rising anger pushed the feeling aside. “I was finished with the conversation. I said what was necessary. Now, get out of here!” she ordered as she stood and faced the direction of his voice.
“I wasn’t finished,” he told her in a low voice, “and I’m going to have my say.”
“I told you I didn’t want to speak with you again. I want you out of my life. I mean it! Reid, leave me alone!” she cried desperately, trying to control her emotions and to still the voice in her heart that called her words lies.
“No.”
“Damn you, Reid,” she said, her voice cracking with anger. She heard him step toward her and she backed away. No, her mind screamed, stay away from me. Don’t touch me...But she couldn’t voice these cries; her tongue was paralyzed. She heard him come closer; she could feel the heat of his body as he neared her. “No... Reid...” His hand, burning hot, touched her shoulder.
“I love you,” he said, his mouth hovering near hers.
Heather shook his hand from her skin, angry at her inability to rid herself of this destructive desire for him that had returned with his touch.
“You don’t love me. If you did, there would have been no lies,” she said in a whisper.
“I didn’t have any choice. I tried to stop what was happening to us. I tried, but I couldn’t,” he told her honestly.
“So you made me become part of your lie? You made me live the lie?” she spat, acid flowing in her words. The hurt and pain she had been attempting to bottle up broke forth, boiling upward, freed by his declaration of love.
“I was wrong,” Reid stated with no attempt to deny her words. He watched her face as he spoke and the taut lines holding her lovely features captive. He saw the lines waver as he spoke and watched her blue eyes fill with tears. His heart twisted painfully as his hands balled into ineffective fists of frustration.
“Why?” she asked, her voice so low he almost missed the word.
“We need to talk, to go someplace more private so I can explain everything to you.”
Heather knew she was crying. Suddenly Reid’s fingers were on her cheeks, wiping away the moisture. Pulling away as if burnt, Heather’s back came against the office wall.
“No!” she cried to both Reid and herself. She knew she wanted nothing more than to be with him; she wanted and needed the strength of his arms around her, his lips on hers, but she could not. She would not allow herself to be used and hurt again.
“Tell me you love me,” Reid demanded in harsh, clipped words. “Tell me!”
Heather tried to deny it, tried to summon the words. Again, she could not.
“We still have a chance,” Reid said. “Heather, we can make things right.”
“Please leave, Reid. I don’t want to be hurt anymore,” Heather said, turning her tear-streaked face from him. She did not want him looking at her now, while she was unable to hide her tears. She could already imagine the pity on his features, and she couldn’t touch his face to know if her fear was real. She stiffened when his fingers cupped her chin and turned her face back to his. Her breath was trapped somewhere between her chest and throat, and her heart hammered wildly.
Reid gazed at Heather as he turned her face to his. Her soft sweet lips were a tight thin line, their corners dipping slightly. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but tears continued to flow in uneven paths. Slowly, Reid leaned forward and kissed her. Then he stepped back and took her hands in his, raising them to his face.
“Look at me—look at me and tell me you don’t love me,” he ordered.
For
cing her trembling hands to stop by the sheer strength of her will, Heather ‘looked’ at Reid. Her fingertips traced the reality of the features she had been dreaming of since she’d left her home. The weathered but unwrinkled skin, the finely chiseled lines of his chin, and the fullness of the lips beneath the soft tickling of his thick mustache were all visible to her fingers. Gazing at him, Heather knew she could no longer deny her love—not while she touched him.
“I love you, Reid,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said softly.
“But that fact doesn’t change anything. I won’t live a life of lies. I won’t be deceived or deceive anyone. I’m sorry, Reid, but we have no future.” Heather spoke, ignoring the sadness and loss that filled her voice, trying to disregard her tears and, above all, the way her heart cried.
“Have you tried to see it from my side?” Reid prodded as he stepped away from her. “Have you thought about how I feel?” he asked, his voice low and hard warning Heather of his anger.
“I tried. I tried to understand why you did it, but I couldn’t.”
“No? Perhaps you should have tried harder. I have a question for you.” Heather heard him pause, as if he were waiting for her. She nodded her head slowly, chewing her lower lip as she waited. “Would you have hired me if I had come to you as Reid Hunter, one of the owners of the Broadlands Ranch, instead of an unemployed foreman? Would you have considered me if I had told you the truth on my resume?”
Heather listened intently to his words, with her heart still pounding and her hands clasped firmly together. He was right, she suddenly realized. She would not have spoken to him at all if he’d put down the truth. No owner of a ranch would want another ranch owner’s hands on their property.
“And,” Reid continued, “Because I lied to you I was able to do the Strand Ranch, you, and even myself, a lot of good. That is the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Heather answered.
“Since we agreed, I think you owe me one favor.”
“Owe you?” Heather echoed his words in surprise.
“Come with me. Let’s talk—let’s try to work this out.”
Cry Mercy, Cry Love Page 19