by Noelle Adams
She normally would have left it at that since right now Riot only had two paintings that were worth considering. But she was still disturbed by her conversation with Ward last week. It kept making her doubt herself. So as a way of countering her weird and melodramatic response to Ward’s disapproval, she’d finally decided to talk to Frank today.
If he was really interested in Riot’s paintings, then she would be proven right. Ward would be proven wrong, and she could let the whole thing go.
So she walked into the gallery at ten thirty in the morning, dressed in her favorite wool dress, tights, and a pair of tall black boots. Frank was at the desk in the back, but he was on the phone when she entered, so she waved at him and amused herself by examining the art on the walls.
He featured original art by local artists. He’d never have been able to make a living in such an endeavor in Abingdon if he hadn’t been funded by his family money. He’d done pretty well with the gallery, and the robust tourist industry allowed him to break even most years.
Em had gone to school with him since kindergarten, so she’d known him forever.
“Em,” Frank said after a minute, putting down the phone and standing up to approach her. He was an attractive blond man. He evidently made bad choices with women because he’d already been divorced twice, and he was the same age as Em. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s no problem. I know I showed up here without warning.”
“You’re welcome anytime.” He stood very close and gave her a warm side hug. “I’m always happy to see you.”
She was glad to see he was in such an accommodating mood. In school, he’d been kind of stuck-up, but he’d improved a lot since then. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m still thinking about my friend’s paintings.”
“Oh yes. You’d mentioned you thought they were good.”
“They are. She’s still young, but I think she has a lot of potential. Even if you don’t want to take the ones she’s done so far, maybe you could give her some encouragement.”
“Of course I will. I’d be happy to. Do you want to take me to go see them sometime? Even if they aren’t ready yet, I could give them a look if it would make you happy.”
Em was thrilled that he was the one to suggest exactly what she’d been hoping. “It would make me happy. Thank you so much for suggesting it.” She was smiling broadly, but she couldn’t help it. This would show Ward. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what she was doing, and this would really help Riot. “The two she’s done so far are over at my place right now. You’d be welcome anytime. Just let me know, and I’ll make sure Riot is there.”
“I’m free tonight.”
“Perfect!” Em clasped her hands together, thinking quickly. “I’ll call Riot and ask her to come. I’ve got to do an interview for a story today at four, but I’ll be free anytime after six.”
“That works great for me. Maybe we can do dinner afterward.”
“Of course we can. I’d love that. I’ll let Riot know. I’m sure she’ll be free for dinner too.”
Frank blinked, but his smile never faltered. “Sounds like a plan.”
Em was grinning as she left the gallery. It wasn’t even eleven yet, and she’d already done a good day’s work. She was tempted to run home and tell Ward all about it to prove that she wasn’t giving Riot false hope, but that would be silly. Plus it would be more effective to wait until after Frank had seen the paintings.
Maybe then she’d mention it to Ward.
She wasn’t sure why it was so important that she prove herself to Ward, but it had become so. His opinion evidently mattered a lot to her, and she wasn’t going to let him keep thinking she was a spoiled fool.
WARD HADN’T SLEPT WELL the night before, after his conversation with his grandmother and his physical response to seeing Em on the terrace. He’d kept waking up to the image of Em in bed with him, his body hot and aroused and his mind in helpless uproar. Two cold showers and a Benadryl had done nothing to dampen his physical unrest.
So he was tired and in a bad mood all day Friday. He had no trouble avoiding Em during the day—she was usually out and about most days anyway, either working on stories for the newspaper or paying visits to people in the community—but that evening at about six she called him and said her father was upset about the burned-out bulbs in their chandelier. Em wanted to borrow his tall ladder so she could change the bulbs.
There was no way in hell Ward was going to let Em climb on that high ladder and stretch up to change the tiny bulbs in the chandelier. Not if he could easily do it himself.
So he hauled the ladder over to the Woodson unit even though he’d been planning to avoid Em for as long as possible until he’d gotten his mind and body back under control.
Em looked gorgeous in a short gray dress and very tall boots. Her legs looked endlessly long, and his eyes lowered to her chest without volition, where he could see the outline of the firm roundness of her breasts.
He wasn’t supposed to do that with her.
He was supposed to keep seeing her in the way he always had.
Why the hell was this happening to him all of a sudden?
“Are you still mad at me?” Em asked when he stood and stared at her in the doorway.
He blinked. “No. Of course not. I was never mad at you.”
“Oh. You looked like you might be in a bad mood.”
“I just didn’t sleep well.”
Her pretty face cleared, and she smiled at him in that bright way. A way that made his heart clench. “Why didn’t you sleep well? I saw you running last night, so you must have gotten enough exercise. Did you drink caffeine before bed or something?”
“No, I didn’t drink caffeine.”
“Are you worried about something?”
He frowned. He really didn’t need an interrogation right now. He might blurt out something entirely inappropriate. “I’m not worried about anything. Sometimes I don’t sleep well. For no reason. It happens to everyone.”
“Okay. You don’t need to grump about it. I was just trying to help.”
“I know you were.” He sighed and stepped into the entry hall. “But I don’t need your help getting to sleep at night.”
She looked torn between frowning and smiling. It was a very Em-like expression. “It seems like you do need my help since you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
He snorted, amused despite himself. He carried the large ladder into the main room and set it up under the chandelier.
“Sorry about making you haul that thing over here,” Em said. “But Dad wouldn’t let up about those bulbs, and I can’t change them without this ladder.”
“It’s no problem. But you’re not going to climb up this thing. I’ll do it.”
“I’m perfectly capable of—”
“I know you are. But your father would have a heart attack if you climbed up so high. I’ll do it.”
“Okay. Fine.” Her chin was sticking out in that stubborn way she had, but she was clearly not going to put up a fight. She didn’t like heights anyway. Ward had known that ever since she was a kid. She would have hated to climb up the ladder, although she’d have done it if she needed to.
“Is Knightley here?” Mr. Woodson came out of his bedroom, wearing a bathrobe and pajama pants. He always got ready for bed after he ate dinner at five. “He’s going to climb up that monstrosity, isn’t he? It’s way too high for you, Em.”
“Yes, I’m going to climb the monstrosity. Good evening, Mr. Woodson. How are you feeling today?”
“Not well. I’ve had a headache all day.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. A good night’s sleep is what you need.”
“Here are the bulbs,” Em said. “Let me put them in a bag so you can hook it over your arm as you climb up.”
It was a good plan, leaving him both hands to climb and change the bulbs. Ward waited until she’d put the bulbs in a plastic bag and then slid it over his forearm.
She was standing too close. He co
uld smell her—some sort of fresh herbal scent. Not fruity or flowery. He couldn’t identify it, but it filled his senses. Her hair brushed the skin of his arm as she adjusted the bag. Her lips were full and rosy. Her long neck arched deliciously whenever she moved her head.
He had to hold himself back from touching her.
“Please be careful up there,” she murmured, her eyes lifting to meet his. “It’s very high.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine.”
“You better be.” Her eyelashes fluttered down, thick and alluring against the delicate skin under her eyes.
His heart hammered ridiculously. He couldn’t move.
Her eyes rose again. “I’ll never hear the end of it from my dad if you fall and break your neck.”
Ward huffed—half amusement and half disappointment at her wry tone and the shift in mood.
But it was far safer this way. “I’d never do that to you.”
He stepped back and turned toward the ladder, shifting his focus. He couldn’t be distracted up that high. He needed to pay attention to what he was doing and not let his mind gravitate back to Em.
He had to climb almost to the top before he was high enough to stretch up and reach the chandelier. There were about fifty small bulbs, so they’d kept the lights on so he could tell which ones needed changing.
He narrowed his concentration as he worked, willing himself not to think or glance down to Em, whom he knew was standing beneath him, watching.
He got the bulbs changed without any trouble, although as he was lowering his arms after the last one, he was hit with a flash of vertigo, suddenly feeling like he was falling through open air.
He jerked as he stepped down a rung, so he was more stabilized on the ladder.
“Are you okay?” Em called up. She sounded worried.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Maybe it was foolish, but he didn’t want to admit to her he’d felt a flash of fear. So he made something up. “Just a catch in my back.”
“Well, please get back down to the ground now.”
He did as she said. He climbed down the ladder, blowing out his relief when his feet hit the ground again. He wasn’t usually bothered by heights, but being that high and unsupported wasn’t any fun.
“Thank you,” Em said, stepping closer to him. “It was really nice of you to do that for us.”
“It’s no problem.”
“I could have done it.”
“I never said you couldn’t.”
“But I’m glad you did it instead.” Her eyelashes were fluttering again, like she was feeling self-conscious.
Ward was acutely aware of her. The swing of her hair. The pink of her cheeks. The way her gorgeous neck was exposed by the neckline of her dress. “I was happy to.”
They gazed at each other for a moment that stretched out too long.
He clenched his hands at his sides to hold them still.
The knock at the door was a relief and a disappointment. Ward stepped back and Em whirled around and hurried to answer the door.
She’d changed in an instant. She was in a flurry now, like she was excited about something that was about to happen.
Ward wondered who was at the door.
“I just made a pot of decaf,” Mr. Woodson said, coming over to him with a mug in his hand. “Pour yourself a cup and come sit with me for a few minutes if you want.”
Ward nodded and said he would. He tried to agree to most of the older man’s invitations. He knew Mr. Woodson must be lonely, and he didn’t like that Em was so completely responsible for her father’s well-being.
It was a lot of pressure to put on a young woman. It tied her down in a way that must feel restrictive to her.
Not that she ever complained, even by a frown or a look.
But it worried him more and more. Mr. Woodson would never do it on purpose, but he’d trapped Em here with him by guilt and love and responsibility.
She couldn’t leave him even if she wanted to.
He poured himself a mug of coffee and went to sit in the chair across from Mr. Woodson’s recliner. So he was in a good position to see as Em came into the living room with a young man he didn’t recognize.
She was smiling almost giddily as she gazed up at the man and chatted to him about how glad she was he stopped by and how Riot was running late.
The sight of them would have knocked Ward off his feet had he not already been sitting down.
The man looked around Em’s age. He was good-looking and well dressed and gazing at Em like he’d just won the lottery.
He was obviously crazy about Em. And Em was clearly very excited to see him.
What the hell?
Who was this guy? Where had he come from? And why did he have a smarmy look about him that Ward disliked the most?
“We’ll be on the sunporch looking at the paintings,” Em told her dad. “Riot will be here soon.”
“Very good,” Mr. Woodson said with a bland smile.
Ward suddenly knew who this man was. Em’s friend who owned the art gallery.
He was here to look at Riot’s paintings. Em was still trying to follow through with her ridiculous plan to give Riot a career as an artist.
Torn between frustration and jealousy, Ward watched as they walked to the sunporch.
The man was obviously into Em, but he couldn’t tell if Em was into him or if she was just excited about her plans for Riot.
Hopefully the latter.
He sipped his coffee and chatted with Mr. Woodson and tried not to feel sick about the possibility of Em falling in love with that young man.
He could see it happening. He’d never believed she meant it when she declared she would never fall in love and get married. Certainly some people were perfectly happy that way, but it seemed more like a rationalization in Em’s case. Like she was giving herself a reason to want the life her father had (unconsciously) forced her into.
And he was now imagining Em dating this man. Getting engaged to him. Getting married.
He was imagining himself losing her for good.
And he couldn’t stand the thought of it. Everything he loved about his life right now would change if that happened.
He wouldn’t be nearly as happy here as he’d been before.
He’d never realized before how much his contentment here was tied to Em’s constant presence.
The recognition was so disturbing he had to leave after ten minutes. He made an excuse and rinsed out his coffee cup and was starting toward his ladder when Em and the young man appeared.
“Riot’s on her way. We’re going to meet her down in the parking lot,” Em explained. “We’ll be a while, so you’ll probably be in bed before I get back.” She leaned down to kiss her father on the forehead.
“Have fun, dear,” he said, smiling contentedly as he picked up the book beside his chair.
“Are you on your way out?” she asked, turning toward Ward.
“I am.”
“Oh, I got some of those apples you like from the farmer’s market. It’s way too many for Dad and me to eat, so let me give you some of them.” She turned to look at the man beside her. “Frank, why don’t you run down and meet Riot. I’ll just need a minute here.”
“Sure.” Frank gave Ward an assessing look, but evidently didn’t see any sort of competition. He turned and left the unit without any reluctance.
Ward wanted to snarl.
He didn’t like Frank, and he was (mostly) convinced it wasn’t because of Em’s attentions. The young man just seemed smarmy, and Ward had never liked smarmy.
Em could do so much better.
She was already in the kitchen, picking out several apples from the bowl on the counter and putting them into a bag. Ward waited until she returned before he said, “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Why not? No sense in letting them go to waste. I knew you loved them, so I got extra.” She didn’t seem to recognize any contradiction in what she
’d just said, and Ward couldn’t help but smile.
She was the most unconsciously generous person he’d ever met.
“So Frank?” he said, letting his tone lift at the end to make it a question.
Her smile faded. “Yes, Frank. He owns that gallery I was telling you about. I was showing him Riot’s paintings.”
“The paintings aren’t what he seems to be interested in.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that. It was stupid. It would upset Em and would reveal more than he wanted her to know about his own rising jealousy.
She frowned, her eyes wide and innocent. “What are you talking about?”
She was being sincere. She really had no idea that Frank was interested in her. She was confident in almost everything, but it still never occurred to her that men might fall in love with her.
It was as if, because she’d decided she could never get married, she assumed the rest of the world would know and accept it.
“Nothing,” he muttered. Better to not let the possibility enter her mind. It might give her ideas he didn’t want her to have.
“I wish you wouldn’t always be so bad-tempered about the whole thing. Frank said Riot’s paintings were really good.”
“Did he?” He tried not to sound dry. He didn’t exactly succeed.
Em obviously recognized the irony in his voice. “Yes. He did. I told you Riot was good. I’m not an idiot for encouraging her in her painting.”
“I never said you were an idiot. I just said it wasn’t about Riot as much as it was about you.”
She stiffened dramatically, her hazel eyes shooting out sparks. “It is not about me. I’m not being stupid and selfish.”
“You’re channeling your own needs into Riot, and it isn’t good for either of you.” His voice was hoarse. Low. He was too invested in this. He wasn’t guarding his words.
“You don’t know anything about it.” Em hissed, so angry her cheeks had flushed red. “You stand there on your self-righteous high horse and think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t know anything.”
He needed to shut up now. He needed to. This conversation was going nowhere good. He should apologize and leave. Now. “I know enough to know that Riot’s paintings are mediocre at best, and if Frank said differently, then he did so for his own reasons.”