by Jillian Hart
“The best view of the valley. My studio is perched at the edge of the mountain. It drops off there. When it isn’t snowing the natural lighting is great.”
“I imagine it would be.” She turned from the window to face Brody.
He stood in his element—his canvases, drawing board and paints all around him. From across the room, his gaze held her transfixed. He cleared his throat. “You didn’t come all the way up the mountain to exchange pleasantries. What’s wrong with those illustrations I left for you at the lodge?”
She nibbled on her lower lip and tried to think of how to compose her response. “There wasn’t anything wrong with them.”
“But? There’s definitely one at the end of that statement.”
“But there is none of your passion and emotions in the illustrations.” She waved her hand at a painting hanging up behind him. “Not like that one. That’s what attracted me to your work when John mentioned you.”
“And yet you wanted the same thing you got from John—pastels, soft. Safe.”
“Safe?”
He frowned. “I’m not John. That became obvious when I’ve tried to emulate his style.” He indicated his work around the room. “I can’t be something I’m not. Soft pastels don’t excite me. I do my best when the colors are bold, the lines dramatic. My drawings pop off the page. Have you considered modernizing your illustrations? Kids are into manga. Maybe something more like that.”
“Manga? That might fit for my new series for older kids, but I don’t know about Barnyard Town.”
“I don’t see how I can do what you want. I’ve tried. It isn’t working.”
Her heartbeat began to hammer against her rib cage. “What do you mean? You knew John’s style before you accepted.”
“You told me what you wanted in the two scenes. A skunk spraying Henry and Calvin. Mary Ann trying to bathe Henry in tomato juice. That’s a funny scene. I couldn’t express it without using some of what I’m used to. Time is running out. You know it. I know it. Maybe we need to cut our ties now so you have time to find someone who can deliver what you want.”
“Just change your choice of colors, soften the lines.”
“You should know it isn’t that simple when you’re creating something. Your heart has to be in it. Mine isn’t. I didn’t think it would be a problem, but...” He shook his head, staring at the falling snow outside. “This partnership is not working. You need to find another illustrator. You still have time. I don’t want to leave you in a bind at the last minute.”
A gasp at the door, which Ellie now realized was ajar, intruded on the moment. Brody marched toward it and yanked it open.
Fists on his waist, he glared down at the pair of girls crouched by the entrance, huddling together because of the cold in the breezeway. “I thought I made it clear this was a private meeting between me and Miss Summers. Go to your rooms.”
“We came to let you know dinner was ready. Marta asked us to get you,” Abbey said, straightening as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
“We didn’t want to inter—” Rising, Alexa looked toward her sister.
“Interrupt you,” Abbey finished.
“So you decided to listen to what we were talking about instead?”
Both girls dropped their heads and mumbled, “Yes.”
“Tell Marta we’ll be there in a minute, and we will have a talk later.”
Brody’s two daughters plodded down the breezeway, their posture expressing their disappointment. He waited until they disappeared before closing the door all the way, its click splicing through the now-unnerving silence.
“I think it’s best if we sever our ties,” he repeated as he turned toward her.
Ellie squared her shoulders and moved into his personal space. “I came all this way and now I’m stuck here overnight. The least you could do is give this another chance. I’m willing to. We can talk after lunch. Frankly, the book is due the first of March, so no, I don’t have that much time to hunt for someone else. Where am I going to find another illustrator as talented as you who can do it right now? I know the holidays are hectic and take a lot of family time, but things ought to settle down now that the new year is almost here.” She fortified herself with a calming breath and continued. “Creatively I’ve had to make changes at my editor’s request. That’s similar to this situation.”
He sighed, a frown creasing his brow. “Let’s eat. We’ll discuss this later.”
As Ellie walked down the breezeway, she felt the way Abbey and Alexa must have as they had trudged away a few minutes ago. She’d been so busy herself promoting Winter’s Folly during the holidays that she didn’t spend the time to cultivate her new partnership with Brody as she had with John in the beginning. Now she had to woo him to stay on the job. He was good, and a good illustrator/artist could adapt. The last set of illustrations was an improvement. Maybe another attempt would finally work.
* * *
“NO DESSERT FOR YOU TWO,” Brody announced to his daughters at the end of lunch, which was a full-course meal. “I need to finish my meeting with Miss Summers, and under no circumstances do I want you to think you can eavesdrop on it.”
“I’ll make sure they don’t.” Marta shot Ellie a look as though this extra work was all her fault.
Brody wasn’t clueless—Marta wasn’t pleased Ellie was here. It had become evident when Ellie sat in Marta’s chair at the start of the meal. When his housekeeper came into the dining room with the last bowl of carrots, onions and potatoes, she came to a halt and glared at Ellie. Routine was important to Marta, and she had helped bring some of that to his household. His girls had desperately needed the structure. Abbey piped in before he could that the seat Ellie sat in was where Marta sat. But when Ellie moved to the other vacant chair, the tension hadn’t dissipated.
“Do we have to go to our rooms?” Alexa asked, breaking into Brody’s thoughts.
“No, I want you two to help Marta clean up the dishes. That way, Marta, it will be easier for you to keep tabs on them. You can start by taking the plates into the kitchen.” When he had pronounced that he and Ellie end their business relationship, he’d thought he would feel relieved. But he wasn’t, and it really didn’t have anything to do with the money. That in itself scared him. Now he probably would give it a fourth attempt instead of focusing on his upcoming tour for his paintings.
Run kept sounding in his mind, especially when she fixed her full attention on him with those gray eyes that conveyed so much of what she was feeling. But this was his house and there was no place really to run.
Alexa stood first, collected her plate and Ellie’s and hurried out.
Abbey got to her feet but didn’t move. Instead, she tilted her head and studied him. “Why don’t you want to draw the pictures for Barnyard Town? That has got to be the best job in the world.”
He’d known his daughters wouldn’t remain quiet about what they’d overheard earlier. What had surprised him was that Abbey had waited until the meal was over. That had to be a record. Probably because she and her sister had been whispering to each other through lunch, in between pumping Ellie for more information about Petunia and a possible girlfriend for Calvin. Scheming no doubt about a way to get him to change his mind.
“Daddy, aren’t you going to answer me?”
“No. This is between Miss Summers and me. It doesn’t include you.”
Abbey planted one hand on her waist in disbelief. “But it concerns me.”
“How so?” he asked and clamped his lips together to keep his laughter inside.
“I won’t get to tell the kids at school that you’re doing the pictures in the books. It would help your status if you did.”
Brody’s mouth dropped open. “My status? Where in the world did you come up with that?”
“TV. I heard it on a show.”
“Young lady, I believe you have a job to do.” He turned to Ellie. “Let’s continue our conversation in my office.” His studio was too personal—not as businesslike as his office. That ought to help him not give in to what she wanted—illustrations he now realized he couldn’t do.
He wanted to make it clear to her he didn’t want the job, especially now that he’d met Ellie in person. She reminded him of his deceased wife with some of her mannerisms and those eyes that told him what she was feeling. But even worse, Ellie enthralled his two daughters. They’d tried to fix him up with their best friend’s divorced mother last fall. They were six and a half. Where did they come up with these ideas?
Shaking his head, he made his way to his office on the other side of the house, checking the snowfall at a window as he passed by. Short of a miracle, Ellie would be staying tonight. Which would only give his daughters more time to concoct a plan to get him to work for her. But knowing them, they wouldn’t stop at that. The disaster with their best friend’s mother still haunted him. He needed to get Ellie to town and away from Abbey and Alexa.
Alexa appeared in the hallway from the kitchen. “Daddy, before you go into the office, Marta wanted to know if you wanted coffee,” she said in her sweet voice.
Boy, he was in trouble. Something was up with Alexa. And if her, then Abbey, too. He started to say no, but Ellie interrupted him.
“I’d love some. Maybe it will chase away the cold.”
“Daddy can build a fire. There’s a fireplace in his office. He’s good at stuff like that.”
Ellie slid a glance toward him. “That would be nice. I don’t think I’ve completely thawed out after my intimate encounter with the snow today.”
He gritted his teeth. Next, his daughters would turn on soft music. At least the snow would keep the great room bright so there’d be no dimming of the lights. They’d done that when Kelly’s mother came to pick her up and the three of them begged her to wait in the living room while they finished cleaning up the mess they’d made upstairs.
Alexa swiveled around and raced toward the kitchen, yelling, “I’ll be right back with the coffee!”
“Your girls are so adorable. You’re lucky to have them.”
“Yes, I am.” Most of the time.
“So sweet and friendly.”
“Yes, they are.” When they want something.
“And smart. The stories they were telling me at our tea party were hilarious. I could see them becoming writers.”
“They do know how to fabricate stories.” Brody gestured toward one of the overstuffed chairs while he took the one across from it, as far away from her as he could be and still carry on a conversation without raising his voice. That would only entice his kids into the hallway to listen.
Alexa came in with one mug while Abbey brought the other one. Marta carried the sugar and cream.
Abbey carefully placed his cup on a coaster on the desk near Brody. “Just like you like it, black.” She smiled sweetly, which set off alarm bells. He knew that look. He glanced at his other daughter. The same expression. A double whammy.
Abbey stepped back while Alexa gave Ellie her mug. “Have Daddy show you the drawings he did of us playing in the yard. He’s very good.” She pointed toward a binder on a shelf behind him. “He keeps them in there,” Alexa added then joined her sister while Marta put the cream and sugar on the table next to Ellie.
“Girls, I know what you’re doing, and as I said earlier, this is between Miss Summers and me.” He sent them a “don’t say a word” look.
They both lowered their gazes to their shoes, not a meek bone in their body.
“We’re leaving,” Marta said while herding the twins toward the exit. “Don’t forget about dessert. A French silk pie. Your favorite, Mr. K.”
“We won’t. And Abbey and Alexa—” Brody waited until his daughters peered back at him with that meek expression on their faces that spelled trouble, before continuing “—no listening at the door. Help Marta clean up then go to your rooms. I haven’t forgotten we need to talk.”
“But, Daddy—” Alexa started to say, but Abbey yanked her out into the hallway.
He heard Abbey say, “Don’t make him any madder, or we’ll have to stay in our rooms the whole time Ellie is here.”
“I’ll make sure they behave,” Marta said before shutting the door with a little more force than normal.
A laugh escaped Ellie the second they were alone. A light, musical sound that made him think of Irene. She’d been so full of life. In fact, Ellie’s smile reminded him of Irene. His wife’s eyes sparkled the same way as Ellie’s. They both had a dimple in their left cheek. He frowned. He didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. This was why he needed to end this partnership before it really got going.
“May I see the drawings?” Ellie’s question pulled him away from his thoughts about his deceased wife and how he was the reason she wasn’t here enjoying her two daughters, anchoring him in the present—one where he had a problem.
“They’re really nothing, just some I did for the girls. We made a book out of them.”
“I’d love to see them.”
The look she gave him—just short of her batting her eyes at him—coupled with her soft tone of voice was lethal. Irene could do that to him. There he went, comparing Ellie and Irene. He gritted his teeth again and pushed to his feet. If for no other reason, this was why he shouldn’t collaborate with Ellie Summers. Too hazardous to his well-ordered life.
After sliding the binder off the shelf, he handed it to her then took his chair, wishing he were anywhere but in his office at the moment. The pictures were something special between him and his daughters. Moments of their life he’d captured, not with a camera but with his acrylics. A work of love.
She opened to the first illustration and her gaze lifted to his. “I thought you were talking about a pencil or pen drawing. These are small acrylics.” She flipped through a few more pages. “Beautiful. I feel like I’m right there with the girls, playing on the swing. In the pile of leaves. Oh, this one with the snowman is adorable. And the one trying to catch a squirrel.” Radiant. That was how she looked when she smiled. “Did they?”
“What? Catch a squirrel?”
“Yes. When I was a little girl, I tried to do the same thing but with a skunk. It wasn’t a pretty picture when I got too close and it defended itself.”
“Is that where you came up with that scene with Mary Ann and Henry after the skunk incident?”
Nodding, she waved her hand at the binder. “I’ve imagined building snowmen and chasing squirrels with my own children. Or the children I dream of having. Like what you’ve captured here. I envy you your kids. They’re full of imagination and life.”
And in that second the wall he’d built around himself cracked. He swallowed several times. Ellie Summers was dangerous. He didn’t want to care about a woman ever again. He was just fine living on this mountain with his two daughters and painting in his studio. He didn’t need anything or anyone else. Especially not a woman who wanted her own children. Two were plenty. As his painting career grew, he wouldn’t even need the money from his illustrations.
He surged to his feet and snatched the binder from Ellie’s grasp. “I don’t think we have anything to discuss.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“I THINK YOU’RE RIGHT.” She couldn’t believe she was admitting this, but she couldn’t deny what she’d derived from looking at his personal drawings. She hadn’t even realized that was what she wanted—at least not consciously. But maybe she had subconsciously when she went with Brody in the first place. “It’s time for a change.”
He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Are you really sure?”
“Those drawings are exactly what I want to see in Petunia Comes to Town. I want to spark children’s i
maginations and emotions with the pictures that go with my words. Please reconsider working on the book. Petunia’s arrival will shake things up.” She rose and tapped the binder he held. “I want the story’s illustrations to do the same thing. But the only way we’ll know is for you to sketch a few samples.”
Only a foot separated them, the air charged with tension. She half expected him to put some space between them. He took a deep breath but remained silent and where he was.
“May I finish looking at the binder?” She held out her hand.
His gaze drilled into her, but beneath the hard lines on his face she saw a softening in his expression.
“Please?” Ellie added with a look she hoped persuaded him.
The stiff set to his shoulders relaxed. “I don’t normally show this to others.” He gave her the binder. “Not even Marta.”
“But your daughters made it difficult for you not to?”
“Exactly. That’s Abbey and Alexa. No doubt they’re somewhere plotting some other scheme to get me to illustrate your book. I want you to be one hundred percent sure you want to go in a different direction.”
“I want something along these lines.” She tapped the binder. “I know you can do this.”
He backed away. “I don’t know. This was so personal.”
“You get it. These drawings make that evident. If you can give me two illustrations, I’ll fax them to my publisher to get his okay. But I know there won’t be a problem. He’d been talking about the direction for my new series for older children. This will sync well with our ideas and then perhaps you’d consider doing both. It could be a bridging of styles.”
“You’re good at steamrolling people,” he mumbled, finally putting space between them.
Ellie sat again and opened the binder. “Please just reconsider. Think about it. Don’t give me an answer until after the First Night celebration. We can meet at the original time, and you can let me know. Maybe if we got to know each other that would help.”
Surprise flitted across his features, and he took another step back. It was as if he didn’t want to get to know her.