Thoroughly irritated with her cowardice and immaturity, she made herself turn in the gate and drive up to the house, determined to see Ben and clear the air. But when she got there, the studio and house were both dark as pitch, and Ben’s car was nowhere in sight.
Obviously, he wasn’t sitting around alone, moping about their relationship. Why should she? She should go back to town, open the gallery and take advantage of the last-minute Christmas shoppers roaming the streets.
In the end, though, she simply went home, too emotionally exhausted to cope with anything more than a hot bath and warm milk and her own lonely bed. With any luck Ben, who’d managed to torment her all day long, would stay the hell out of her dreams.
After forcing himself to go into Middleburg to grab a beer and some dinner after Destiny’s visit, Ben spent another tortured night dreaming of Kathleen and an endless stream of paintings that began as landscapes and turned into portraits, always of the same woman. By morning he was irritable and in no mood for the 7:00 a.m. phone call from his brother.
“You’d better read the paper,” Mack announced without preamble.
“Why?”
“Destiny and Pete Forsythe have struck again.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he mumbled, still half-asleep, but coming awake fast.
“Get your paper, then call me back if you need to rant for a while. I’ve been through this, so you’ll get plenty of sympathy from me. Richard, too. This is vintage Destiny. It’s our aunt at her sneakiest.”
Ben dragged on a pair of faded jeans and raced downstairs, cursing a blue streak the whole way. He had a pretty good idea what to expect when he turned to Forsythe’s column. After all, the gossip columnist was Destiny’s messenger of choice when all her other tactics had failed. Letting the entire Metropolitan Washington region in on whichever Carlton romance wasn’t moving along to suit her was supposed to motivate all the parties. It was the kind of convoluted logic he’d never understood, but he couldn’t deny it had probably pushed things along for Richard and Mack, despite the havoc the column had wreaked at the time.
He opened the paper with some trepidation. There it was, summed up right in the headline: Art Dealer Courts Reclusive Carlton Heir.
“But is Alexandria art expert Kathleen Dugan, known for finding undiscovered talent, looking for something other than paintings to hang on the walls of her prestigious gallery?” Forsythe asked. “Word has it that she’s after something bigger this time. Marriage, perhaps?”
Ben groaned.
“That’s what insiders are telling us,” Forsythe continued, “but artist Ben Carlton, who rarely leaves his Middleburg farm, may be a reluctant participant in any wedding plans. Then, again, when it comes to the wealthy Carlton men, love does have a way of sneaking up on them when they least expect it. Stay tuned here for the latest word on when this last remaining Carlton bachelor bites the marital dust.”
Ben uttered a curse and threw the paper aside. “It’s not going to work, Destiny. Not this time. You’ve overplayed your hand.”
He picked up the phone, not to call Mack, but Destiny, then slowly hung up again before the call could go through. What was the point? This was what she did. She meddled. She did it because she loved them. Misguided as she might be, he could hardly rip her to shreds for acting on her convictions.
Unfortunately, he was at a loss when it came to figuring out a way to counteract that piece of trash that Forsythe had written based on his latest hot tip from Destiny. Truthfully, it didn’t matter to him all that much. He didn’t see enough people on a daily basis to worry about embarrassment or awkward explanations.
Kathleen, however, was right smack in the public eye all the time. He could just imagine the curiosity seekers this would send flooding into her gallery. Maybe she’d be grateful for the influx of business, but he doubted it.
He should call her, apologize for his aunt dragging her into the middle of this public spectacle, but he couldn’t see the point to that, either. The one thing Kathleen really wanted to hear from him he couldn’t say.
Of course, there was one thing he could do that would at least give people pause, if not make that article seem like a total lie. But did he have the courage to do it?
He spent the entire morning waging war with himself, but by noon he’d made a decision. He began crating up all the pictures in his studio. It took until midnight to get them boxed to his satisfaction. He’d gone about the task blindly, refusing to pause and look at his work for fear he’d change his mind. He owed this to Kathleen, this and more. Maybe if he gave her the showing she’d been working so hard to get, it would prove to the world that whatever was between them was all about his art.
Besides, with Christmas only two days away, it was the only gift he could come up with that he knew she truly wanted…and that he was capable of giving.
Christmas Eve day dawned bright and clear, but Kathleen thought she smelled a hint of snow in the air. The prospect of a white Christmas normally would have made her heart sing, but today all she could think about was what a nuisance it would be when it came time to drive to Providence, where her mother and grandparents were expecting her in time for midnight services at the church that the Dugans had attended for generations.
There still hadn’t been another peep from Ben. She’d thought for sure he would call when that ridiculous item had appeared in the morning paper the day before. He had to be as outraged as she was to see their private relationship played out for the entire world to speculate about over their morning coffee. Maybe he’d been too humiliated or, given the way he hid out at that farm of his and kept the world at arm’s distance, perhaps he hadn’t even seen it.
Despite her indignation when she’d first seen Pete Forsythe’s column, Kathleen had clipped it from the paper. Maybe it would serve as a reminder that she was still capable of misreading people. She took it out of her desk drawer now and read it yet again, shaking her head anew at the idea that anyone might actually care what was going on in her love life.
For all of its juicy, speculative tone, the column had gotten one thing right. She had started out wanting to represent Ben’s art and now she simply wanted him. Fortunately, neither Pete Forsythe nor his inside source—Destiny, she imagined—had any idea just how badly she wanted Ben. No, she corrected, Destiny did know, which made what she’d done unforgivable.
The truth was that Kathleen craved Ben’s touch, yearned for the times when he studied her with his penetrating, artist’s eye as if he were imagining her naked, in his studio…in his bed.
Despite their superficial differences—his privileged background, her childhood struggles and disastrous marriage, his need for privacy, hers for a constant, if somewhat impersonal, social whirl—Kathleen had the feeling that at their core they were very much alike. They were both searching for something that had been missing from their lives. She recognized that about herself, recognized that she’d found it in Ben. He hadn’t yet had that epiphany. It was possible, she was forced to admit, that he never would.
She’d discovered in that one glorious night they’d shared that he was a generous, attentive lover, a kind and gentle man, but he withheld a part of himself. She knew why that was. It couldn’t be any more plain, in fact. The strong, self-assured man she knew was, at heart, a kid terrified of losing someone important again, a kid who’d grown into a man who’d lost the woman he loved, as well. Three devastating, impossible-to-forget losses. Add in Graciela’s betrayal and it is was plain why he found it easier to keep her at a distance than to risk being shattered if she left or tragedy struck.
To a degree he even kept the family he adored at arm’s length, always preparing himself to cope in case something terrible happened and they disappeared from his life.
Unfortunately, Kathleen had absolutely no idea how to prove that she was in his life to stay, that her initial desire to represent his art had evolved into a passion for him, a passion that wasn’t going to die. It would take time and per
sistence to make him believe that. She had persistence to spare, but time was the one thing he obviously didn’t intend to give her, to give them. And how much good would it really do, anyway? His family had had a lifetime to convince him and it hadn’t been enough. Not to heal the pain caused by those who had gone.
Fortunately, on this last shopping day before Christmas, there wasn’t a single moment to dwell on any of this. From the moment she opened the shop’s door, she was deluged with customers, many of them no doubt drawn in by curiosity because of that stupid gossip column. Still, she was grateful, because it kept her busy, kept her from having to think.
By midafternoon she’d written up dozens of very nice sales and cleaned out a wealth of inventory. She was about to eat the chicken salad sandwich she’d brought from home when a delivery truck pulled up in front of the gallery, double parking on the busy street.
“What on earth?” she murmured when she recognized the same driver who’d brought her the art supplies. Could this possibly be another gift from Ben? Maybe a peace offering? How typical that he was having someone else deliver it, someone else face her.
She opened the door as the driver loaded his cart with what looked to be packing crates, the kind used for paintings. As the stack grew, her heart began to pound with an unmistakable mix of anticipation and dread.
“Merry Christmas, ma’am,” the driver said cheerfully as he guided the precariously balanced stack into the gallery’s warmth. “It’s a cold one out there. I’m thinking we’ll have snow on the ground by morning.”
“Seems that way to me, too,” Kathleen said, eyeing the bounty warily. “Is this from Mr. Carlton?”
“Yes, ma’am. Picked it up from him first thing this morning. He was real anxious for you to get it, but traffic’s a bear out there, so it took me a while to get over here.” He eyed the stack with a frown. “You need me to help you open these?”
“No, thanks. I’m used to opening crates like this,” she said, offering him a large tip. “Merry Christmas.”
Once he had gone, she stood and stared at the overwhelming number of paintings Ben had sent. The temptation to rip into them and get her first glimpse of the art he’d been denying her was overwhelming, but she resisted.
So, she thought, running her fingers over one of the crates, this was it. He’d thrown down the gauntlet. She was filled with a sudden, gut-deep fear that this was either a test or, far worse, a farewell gift. Whichever he’d meant it to be, she knew she couldn’t accept. If she did, it would destroy all hope. It would be the end of the most important thing that had ever happened to her, perhaps to either of them.
She looked at her copy of the receipt the driver had given her and immediately called the delivery service. “Do you have the ability to get in touch with one of your drivers?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, but most of them are coming in for the day. It’s Christmas Eve and they’re getting off early.”
She explained who she was. “Your driver just left here not five minutes ago. I need him to come back. I know it’s an inconvenience, but please tell him I’ll make it worth his while. It’s very important.”
Apparently the dispatcher caught the urgency in her voice, because he said, “Sit tight, ma’am. I’ll do what I can.”
Ten minutes later the truck pulled up outside and the driver came in.
“Is there something wrong, Ms. Dugan? Was there a problem with the shipment?”
“Yes, you could say that,” she said. “I need you to take all of this back to Mr. Carlton, please.”
“Now?” he asked incredulously, then took a good, long look at her face and nodded slowly. “No problem. I’ll be happy to do it.”
She dragged out her checkbook. “Name your price.”
He shook his head. “It’s on me, ma’am. Headquarters is out that way, anyway.” He grinned at her. “Besides, I read that stuff that was in the paper about the two of you. I figured this might have something to do with that. I want to see the look on Mr. Carlton’s face when all of this lands right back on his doorstep.”
Filled with a sudden burst of expectancy, Kathleen found herself returning his smile. “Yes. I’m rather anxious to see that myself. In fact, I’ll be right behind you.”
Ben Carlton was not going to toss potentially thousands of dollars in paintings at her and convince her she’d won. Until they were together—truly, happily-ever-after together—neither one of them would have won a blasted thing.
Chapter Fifteen
Mack and Richard converged on the farm twenty minutes after Ben had sent the shipment of paintings off to Kathleen.
“Why didn’t you ever call me back yesterday?” Mack demanded.
“We’d have been here sooner, but I didn’t want to leave Melanie alone at the house,” Richard said. “Beth’s there now, watching her like a hawk, I hope. Melanie keeps trying to slip out to finish her Christmas shopping. I swear that baby is going to be born in an aisle at some boutique.”
Ben chuckled. “Bro, I think you’re fighting a losing battle. If Melanie wants to shop, you should know by now that you’re not going to stop her.”
Richard raked a hand through his hair, then stopped himself. “Yeah, I’m beginning to get that,” he admitted with evident frustration. “I swear to God, though, I’m going to be bald by the time this kid gets here.”
“It’s not going to be much longer,” Mack soothed. “Beth predicts a Christmas baby.”
Richard’s eyes immediately filled with panic. “Christmas is tomorrow. That means Melanie could be going into labor right now. First babies always take a long time, right?”
Mack looked at Ben and rolled his eyes. “Do you have your cell phone?”
“Of course,” Richard snapped impatiently.
“It’s on?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop worrying,” Mack advised. “We’re here to solve Ben’s problems, not to watch you panic over contractions that haven’t even started.”
“Just wait,” Richard said grimly. “One of these days the two of you are going to be in my place, and I’m not giving you one single shred of sympathy.”
“I will never be in your place,” Ben said wearily, then almost immediately regretted it because both of his brothers turned their full attention on him. He should have been grateful for the temporary distraction from their obvious mission and kept his mouth shut.
“Do you want to be where I am?” Richard asked. “Remember, I was where you are for a very long time, but I’ve got to tell you that nothing compares to where I am now.” He shrugged. “Okay, maybe not right this minute, but generally speaking being married to Melanie is the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Same here,” Mack said. “Beth is incredible. Destiny’s got her faults, but when it comes to picking the right women for us, she nailed it for Richard and for me. Do you really think she made a mistake in your case?”
Ben thought about it, really thought about it, for the first time. Truthfully, he knew that Destiny hadn’t made a mistake. And if he were being totally honest, he realized that the prospect of having a family wasn’t half as scary as it had once been.
“No, there’s no mistake,” he admitted.
“Then what are you going to do about it?” Mack asked. “You’re not going to accomplish what you want sitting around out here. The woman I presume you want to have a family with is probably packing her bags for Providence right about now.”
“Providence?” Ben echoed. “Why?”
“Destiny says Kathleen is going to spend the holidays with her family,” Richard told him. “She’s worried she might decide not to come back.”
Ben couldn’t imagine such a thing. Kathleen would never close the gallery she loved and move back home. “That’s just Destiny trying to get me all worked up,” he said confidently.
“You willing to take a chance that she’s wrong?” Richard asked, just as his cell phone rang. He jumped as if he’d been shocked, fumbled to get it out of his pock
et, then dropped it.
“Good grief, man, she’ll have the baby before you get yourself together,” Mack told him with a shake of his head. He picked up the phone and handed it to Richard.
“Yes? Are you okay?” Richard demanded when he finally answered the phone.
The color immediately washed out of his face. “I’m on my way,” he said, turning the phone off and jamming it back into his pocket. “The baby…” He dragged his hand through his hair again. “My God, the baby’s coming. I have to get home. We have a plan. How are we going to follow the plan if I’m not even there?”
“Beth is there,” Mack reminded him. “She’s a doctor.”
“But the plan,” Richard protested. “It was all written out so we wouldn’t forget anything.”
“Melanie knows this plan, right?”
“Sure, but—”
Ben stared at the sight of his cool, unflappable brother basically falling apart in front of him. Mack immediately took charge.
“Forget the damn plan,” Mack said. “Let’s just go.” He steered Richard toward the car.
“I’ll follow you,” Ben said.
Mack nodded toward the driveway and the plume of dust that was being kicked up. “You might want to reconsider that, pal. Looks to me like company’s coming.”
“Company?” Ben echoed blankly, then saw a familiar delivery truck and right on its tail an even more familiar car being driven by a sexy, speed-crazed maniac. His heart leaped into his throat, but this time the reaction had less to do with fear than it did with pure, unadulterated delight.
Maybe he hadn’t ended this thing with Kathleen, after all. And given the mushy way he was feeling about babies and family right now, it was a damn good thing.
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