Family of His Own

by Catherine Lanigan

  “I do.” His smile was brilliant. Dangerous. Her ears rang. Her heart was singing. She felt as if she could lift right off the earth.

  Scott shuffled his feet next to her.

  Isabelle felt her future expand before her. Every opportunity was at her fingertips. For so many years she’d been held back by finances and circumstances, her inability to break through to the next level of her own talent. She could do this. She would do this. This time when her heart pounded, it was with joy.

  “Then that’s what I’ll try,” she assured both Malcolm and Wes.

  Malcolm smiled triumphantly. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I do want this one, Isabelle. How many more can you produce in four weeks?”

  Isabelle had never been asked such a question. She’d never painted on demand before. Sure, she’d done this one painting, but she’d killed herself to perfect it in the past month. Only one painting and it had taken her five tries to get there.

  The expectant faces around the room, even Scott’s, made her nervous and edgy. What if she promised too much? What if she didn’t fulfill that promise? Would her showing be rejected? Would her golden chance be obliterated when she’d only just gotten started?

  Think, Isabelle.

  They waited.

  Wes shifted his weight to his right leg. He was getting impatient.

  “Three. I can do three.”

  “In four weeks?” Malcolm asked.

  “Yes,” she replied confidently. She could do it. She would never sleep. She’d drink smoothies. And lots of Scott’s espresso. Somehow she managed to keep a poised smile on her face.

  Wes threw his arms up in the air, lunged toward her and hugged her. “Amazing!”

  Scott cleared his throat. Loudly.

  Wes kissed her cheek again. Isabelle wished he wouldn’t do that. Why did he act like Scott was invisible?

  Not that she and Scott were a couple. She wasn’t even sure how strong their friendship was anymore. Still, his behavior made her uneasy. She didn’t mind Wes being himself, but she didn’t want to hurt Scott, either.

  For the second time, she wriggled out of Wes’s embrace.

  She turned to Malcolm. “What about the other paintings? I brought them back for you to look at one more time.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Yes. Let’s do that. Wes?”

  “Sure.” Wes marched ahead of them toward the back room where she and Scott had left her canvases.

  Isabelle looked at Scott. “Are you coming?”

  “No,” he replied with a tilt of his chin toward Wes. “You go ahead. I’m going to look around. I haven’t seen the front of the gallery yet.”

  “Ok—ay.” She tried to tamp down her disappointment at his lack of interest in watching the viewing. She was so used to assuming that her needs, her wants, were important to Scott. She knew now that had never been the truth. She’d been self-centered. And she had hurt him.

  Wes was holding a canvas up to the light. It was the one of the boy in the sailboat among the stars. “This is the same guy as the butterfly?”

  “Uh, yes,” she replied, realizing she’d painted Scott twice. She hadn’t grasped that until now.

  “Scott, right?” Wes asked while Malcolm set aside another of her paintings.

  “Yes.”

  Wes met her gaze as he handed the painting to Malcolm. “This one will sell first,” he announced.

  Malcolm smiled. “Agreed.”

  Wes placed his hand on Isabelle’s elbow. “My uncle and I have spent a great deal of time discussing you and your talent.”

  Isabelle swallowed the lump of anticipation that kept rising up in her throat. No matter how many times she beat it back down, it threatened to choke her. Fear of losing out and of never getting her chance had stopped her too many times before. She intended to grab this opportunity, no matter what the cost. “And have you come to any conclusions?”

  “Yes.” Wes’s blue eyes were magnetic, drawing her away from her old life and into her new one. “My uncle will take all your paintings and show them. The public will always decide, you know. If they sell...”

  Her skin broke out in goose bumps from her scalp to her toes. If they sell.

  No. Not “if,” she told herself, but “when.” When they sold at the spring show, she would have made a name for herself in the art world. She would no longer be a “tourist painter” who could only hope for a weekend sale once or twice a month. Critics would write articles about her. People would value her opinion. She would be somebody. Not just Isabelle Hawks from Indian Lake. She’d be an artist showing in the Whitestone Gallery in Chicago, Illinois.

  “Thank you.” It was all she could manage. Her mind was full of possibilities.

  Isabelle regained her composure and shook Malcolm’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity, Malcolm. It’s a dream come true for me.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “But understand this. If the paintings don’t sell, there’s nothing I can do about that and our association will end.”

  Wes slapped Malcolm on the back. “That’s not quite true, Malcolm. If they don’t sell, I have a feeling Isabelle will discover a new method and skim off the next layer of her talent. She’ll evolve. Improve. That’s what I believe.”

  Isabelle sucked in a breath. She’d never heard such impressive predictions about her future. What did Wes see that she didn’t? How did he know she’d have the courage to reinvent herself?

  She was fascinated by his insight even more than his handsome looks. All his inappropriate affectionate gestures aside, he seemed to know her in a way she was only discovering. And that intrigued her all the more.

  He held out his hand. “Isabelle, good luck over the next month. We’ll see you then.”

  “Thank you, Wes.” She withdrew her hand slowly from his.

  From the hallway she heard footsteps. When she turned away from Wes, she saw Scott standing in the doorway.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, realizing his expression hadn’t altered a bit. His eyes were distant, objective, and he looked at her as if he didn’t know her. A chill scurried down her back. She felt as if she’d truly lost her best friend.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ISABELLE DROVE DOWN Main Street after spending nearly an hour at the art supply store. Fortunately, they’d had every item on her list. She pulled to a stop at the traffic light east of Scott’s bookshop. Parked in front of Scott’s store was a large Ryder truck. She blinked and then squinted at it. “A moving van?”

  Isabelle flipped her turn signal and swung into the empty space in front of the van. As she approached the door to Scott’s apartment, it burst open. Scott emerged, holding the end of one of the sofas she’d chosen, followed a second later by Luke Bosworth carrying the opposite end. They marched the sofa over to truck’s loading ramp.

  “Scott, hi!” She waved. “Luke. What’s going on?”

  “Moving,” Scott groaned as they placed the couch inside the truck.

  Luke was wearing a T-shirt; apparently the February cold didn’t faze him. Scott wasn’t much better. His woven Henley shirt had long sleeves, at least, but it was quite thin.

  “You’re moving? Where?”

  “I bought a house.” Scott beamed with pride.

  “A house.” Isabelle didn’t know what else to say, but she felt vastly unimportant. When had she become the last person Scott confided in?

  Anger surged through her, only to be replaced with guilt. She was getting what she wanted. Her gallery showing was less than a month away. Everything in her life was just as she’d planned. She nearly had it all. Why did seeing Scott make her doubt that?

  Luke came over and kissed her cheek. “How ya doin’?”

  “Fine, Luke. And how’s Sarah?�
��

  “Always great. You should call her. She says she never hears from you. Especially with Olivia’s wedding coming up and all.”

  “Right. The wedding. Valentine’s day.”

  Scott tromped down the truck ramp. “Yeah. You know. You’re the bridesmaid. I’m the groomsman? That one.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’ve just been so busy.”

  “I know,” Scott said, glancing down at the shoveled and salted sidewalk. He placed his hand on her arm. “But hey, listen. Now that you’re here, could you lend us a hand?”

  “Oh...” She glanced at her car full of art supplies. “Okay, sure.” Tingles of embarrassment shot down her spine. She should have offered to help as soon as she saw them. Whenever Isabelle had purchased anything bulky or unmanageable for her apartment, Scott had been there to help. He’d carried Christmas trees, chairs, art supplies and even a new mattress a couple years ago. Scott was always giving of his time and energy for others—and until recently, Isabelle especially.

  Now he was caring for two children who probably needed him more than she ever had.

  “My mom’s upstairs with the kids. She could use some help packing up. Trent and Austin are coming to help with the rest of the furniture. Do you mind?”

  This was getting worse by the minute, she thought. He’d told all his buddies about his move and she didn’t know the first detail.

  “I’d be glad to,” she said.

  “Great!”

  Isabelle went up the stairs to the apartment. The door was open. “Theresa?” she called.

  “In the kitchen. Is that you, Isabelle?”

  “It is.” Isabelle put her purse on the floor near the window then gave Scott’s mother a hug.

  Theresa was tall like Scott and though she was in her early sixties, she looked a decade younger. She had the same strong facial structure as Scott and enormous, deep brown eyes. Theresa was striking. Isabelle hadn’t realized how much she missed seeing her.

  “Oh, honey, you look thin. Are you eating right?”

  Isabelle chuckled. “I never could keep much from you, could I? I’ve been working harder than I ever have and both sleep and food have been low on the priority list.”

  “Hmm,” Theresa murmured. “Scott told me you finally landed the showing you wanted.”

  “I did,” Isabelle replied. “Where are the kids?”

  “In the bedroom. I’m hoping Michael will nap. Bella’s reading a new book Scott gave her.”

  “That’s good.” She looked at the stacks of boxes around the apartment. Luke and Scott started downstairs with the second sofa. The wooden blinds that she and Scott had chosen at the lumberyard store had been taken down from the windows. The silk flower arrangement she’d made for him last summer was nowhere to be seen. For years, she’d bought him antique books on his birthday or at Christmas. Some were first editions, and he’d proudly kept them on the bookshelf next to the fireplace. The bookshelf that was now bare.

  Isabelle felt as if she were standing in the middle of a divorce from a marriage she’d never known. Emotions rioted inside her and her stomach knotted. All she could do was stare.

  “I’ve already emptied the refrigerator but I kept some sodas and bottles of water in the sink under ice.” Theresa’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. “Would you like something to drink, Isabelle?”

  “Drink? No.” She studied the bare walls where her paintings used to hang.

  “You’re a little pale. Maybe some water with electrolytes,” Theresa said and went to the sink. She handed a bottle to Isabelle.

  Tears pricked Isabelle’s eyes as she considered the water. “Maybe I do need this.”

  Scott came back up the stairs with Luke behind him. Despite the cold, both men were sweating. She held out the bottle to him. “Here. You need this more than I do.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled as his fingers brushed hers. Oddly, she didn’t want to let go of the bottle. He tilted his head. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He took a long slug.

  Luke went to the sink. “No lite beer, huh?” he teased Theresa as he popped the top on a root beer.

  Isabelle put her hand on Scott’s arm. “When did you buy a house?”

  “I closed this morning. Cate found it for me. It’s really nice. Or will be when I fix it up. I got such a good deal. Cate said it was because it was February. Nobody buys real estate around here in the dead of winter.”

  “I’m just surprised. The apartment is so convenient, your shop being right downstairs...”

  “That was the problem. The stairs. Michael fell down half a flight a few weeks ago. It was my fault. I’d gone down to get the newspaper and left the upstairs door open. He came running out crying. I think he thought I had left him, and boom! Down he went. I felt horrible. Thank God he didn’t hurt himself. He’s still got a small lump on his forehead, but the doctor said he’s fine.”

  “Scott, that’s awful! I would have been terrified.”

  “I was. I got on the phone to Trent that night and he put Cate on the line. She’d found me a house by midnight. She said she knew just how I felt.” He leaned closer. “Apparently Danny fell like that once when he was a toddler. Kids are resilient, but if Michael had fallen down the full flight, we might not have been so lucky.”

  “No. Absolutely. I agree with you. Poor Michael.”

  “After that, Mom has come over every day, but she can’t put her life on hold because I’ve got kids all of a sudden. You know?”

  “Right. But who’s going to watch them when you’re at the store?”

  “Me.”

  “Huh?” She blinked.

  “I’ve got it all worked out.” He tapped his temple. “I’m going to expand the bookshop and stock several lines of educational toys. I’m putting in a play area and I’m going to have a storybook hour every afternoon. I’ll have events and things for the kids on the weekends. I’m adding healthy treats and drinks for kids to the menu. I have a new advertising campaign figured out. And, I’m going to hire someone.”

  “Seriously? Can the shop afford employees?”

  “I’ve got that worked out, as well. I’ve rented this apartment to cover my mortgage, and with the new inventory and focus for the shop, my sales should rise.”

  Isabelle was dumbfounded. He was on fire with ideas and plans. He radiated happiness.

  “This is wonderful, Scott.”

  He took another slug of water. “I know. It’s a lot, isn’t it? I think I blew my mom away. But she loves the kids.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah.” He searched her face in a way that made her heart stop.

  Isabelle kissed his cheek. She needed to feel close to him again. She didn’t like this chasm between them—the one she’d dug herself.

  Right now she didn’t understand anything about either of them. Why did she feel the urge to throw her arms around him and hold him for the next several decades? Especially when the life he was pursuing—was already living—was one she’d renounced for herself.

  All she knew was that she had a foot in two worlds and neither of them made her happy.

  “Scott, I...”

  Just then, Bella came down the hall holding Michael.

  “Daddy. Michael woke up. I changed him, but he’s hungry...” Bella halted and stared at Isabelle.

  “Hello, Bella,” Isabelle said.

  “Hi.” Bella tried to hold Michael but he wiggled out of her arms. He toddled straight over to Scott, who picked him up.

  Scott covered his cheeks with kisses. “Hey there, munchkin.”

  Isabelle kept looking at Bella who didn’t move from the spot.

  “Bella? Are you packed?” Theresa asked, wiping her hands on a towel. Theresa looked at Isab
elle. “I bought her two rolling suitcases. They have Disney princesses on them, right, honey?”

  “Uh-huh,” Bella said.

  “Which princesses?” Isabelle asked.

  Bella hesitated. “The one with hair like me. And the black-haired one.”

  “Cinderella and Snow White?”

  Bella only stared.

  Theresa put her hands on Isabelle’s shoulders. “Those are the ones. Isabelle, if you would help Bella pack her and Michael’s things, I can finish up the kitchen.”

  “We have to have the truck back by nine tonight,” Scott said. “Or I get charged another day. That’s why Austin and Trent are coming over. More hands make fast work.” He grinned at Isabelle, a smile just for her.

  Curiously, she felt a flutter in her stomach. Or maybe it was her heart. “I’d be happy to help you, Bella. Why don’t you show me your room?”

  “Okay,” she whispered, and led Isabelle down the hall.

  Isabelle followed her into the room where she found a brand new wood crib and a single bed with flowery pink sheets and a pink-checked comforter. “This is a nice room,” Isabelle said.

  Scott had bought a child’s chest of drawers, a Cinderella lamp with pink lampshade and a changing table on the far wall for Michael.

  The suitcases were next to the bed. Isabelle picked them up and unzipped them. “Why don’t you get me your clothes and I’ll pack them for you?” Isabelle asked.

  Bella didn’t move. She only stared at Isabelle.

  Sensing that the little girl was either frightened of her or didn’t trust her, Isabelle knelt on the floor next to Bella. “What is it?”

  “Are you a mother?”

  “No, I’m not. Why?”

  “My mother is in jail. She’s not coming back.”

  “I can understand if that makes you sad.”

  “I’m not sad.”

  Stunned, Isabelle lifted her hand to touch Bella’s cheek, but then thought better of it. “Do you miss her?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I like it better here without her. Mothers are always sick. And the kids have to take care of them.”