Nightsong (2 page)

Outside, the weather was typical of late January. Gray and cold with a brisk wind that stung color to her face within seconds. She pulled up the hood of her jacket and waited for Phillip to reach her side.

“I think we made a clean getaway.”

At his teasing comment Elleny looked up into richly dark eyes and forgave herself for wanting to talk to him without benefit of a distracting audience. “I apologize for not introducing you to three of Cedar Spring’s more prominent citizens, but you see, there’s a small dispute about expanding the city limits and….” 

He lifted a hand to still further explanation. “Politics,” he said with a nod of understanding. “It happens in the best of communities. I think I’d prefer to meet the townspeople after the feuding has died down a bit.”

“You’ll have to take sides if you plan to stay here very long.” She took a couple of steps along the sidewalk, expecting him to walk with her. When she realized that he wasn’t, she turned. “I have to hurry or I’ll be late opening my store today.”

“Is that an invitation to walk with you as far as the store?”

Her cheeks were suddenly heated despite the wind. “I didn’t mean to be rude earlier, but you were a stranger. I didn’t realize you were a friend of Mark’s.”

“And that makes a difference?”

“Of course.”

He pursed his lips in a puzzled line, and his eyes narrowed in consideration. “You’re very trusting, Elleny Damon.”

“Would you like to come with me?” she answered simply. “Once I get the morning routine under way, we’ll have a chance to talk.”

“You must not be planning on doing a brisk business.”

Elleny watched as he closed the gap between them, noting for the first time the cut and style of his coat and the way it shaped his shoulders without appearing bulky or cumbersome. Custom-tailoring, she concluded, although she had no basis for such an assumption. She turned her steps to lead the way along the sidewalk. “The bookstore business is never brisk. At least not in Cedar Springs in January.”

“I’d have thought this would be the best time. There can’t be much to do in this town in the winter.”

Her gaze slid to him in a wry, sidelong sweep. “No. Basically we spend a lot of time waiting for a stranger to come into town and start looking for an apartment. The ‘No-Vacancy Runaround’ rates as high as Trivial Pursuit when it comes to parlor games.”

His grimace was quick and might have seemed sheepish on any other man. “Sorry. Guess my small-town prejudice is showing.”

The sidewalk stopped at the intersection, and Elleny halted at the curb. “If that’s the way you feel, why are you here?”

“Cedar Springs has something I want.”

An odd little shiver slipped down her back at his elusive tone, and she couldn’t hide her sudden curiosity. “Something?”

His gaze met hers for a dark, intense moment and then skipped away with the easy grin that touched his mouth. “A lot of things, actually.” He placed his hand against the ribbed waist of her jacket and guided her from the curb onto the pavement. “Why are you here, Elleny?”

“This is my home.” She felt suddenly defensive, as if there had been some secret meaning in his casual question. “I have a house and a business.” She paused, considering. “And a son.”

Phillip smiled easily. “I know. Andrew Jesse, better known as A.J. How old is he?”

“Almost five.” Elleny filled in the blank, surprised even that he knew, much less remembered, her son’s full name.

With a nod Phillip stepped up from the street to the sidewalk and placed his hand at her elbow in an unnecessary assist. “That must be nice for you.”

“Nice?” A soft maternal affection smoothed the skeptical edge from her voice. “You obviously do
not
have a four-year-old.”

“No,” he admitted. “But my car is three and a half. Does that count?”

“Only with a mechanic.” Her gaze encountered his and held for a laughing moment. The sound of a cold, reluctant motor whirred and coughed in the street beside them, and Elleny, of sudden inexplicable necessity, turned her attention to putting one foot in front of the other. “I am curious, though, about how and when you knew Mark.”

Phillip shortened his stride to accommodate her slower pace. “We met at an art exhibit in Oklahoma several years ago, discovered some common interests, and corresponded for a while. He stopped writing about three years ago, but I didn’t think much about it at the time. I was busy developing my career, and I assumed Mark was busy, too. I didn’t learn about his death until recently.”

Elleny wondered why Phillip’s name was unfamiliar to her. Surely Mark had mentioned the friendship lo her. And she must have seen the letters at one time or another. “I know Mark must have told me about you, but I just can’t seem to remember.”

Phillip cleared his throat. “He probably didn’t. I’m sure he made more of an impression on me than I did on him. I’m really interested in his work. Since the first time I saw his work, I’ve been intrigued by his style.”

“He had tremendous talent,” Elleny agreed. “I’ve often thought if Mark had lived, he would have become as famous as his father.” She glanced at Phillip and lifted her brows in question. “I suppose you’ve heard of Jesse Damon?”

“Of course. He’s almost a legend in western art. Mark must have had a hard time dealing with that.”

“He adored his father and was Jesse’s greatest fan,” Elleny stated in quick, crisp defense.

“I didn’t mean to offend.” Phillip seemed to consider his words. “Many children have trouble handling the success of a parent, especially when the child chooses to pursue the same type of career. I suppose I just assumed that Mark....” He let the sentence trail into an apologetic silence, and Elleny allowed a discreet distance to settle between them.

“I’ve heard that Jesse is somewhat of a recluse these days.” Phillip dropped the contrite tone, and his voice took on a conversational amiability. “Do you see him often?”

“Every day at breakfast.” She started to volunteer the information that her father-in-law was the primary reason she preferred to have her morning coffee at Dan’s Cafe. But some niggling doubt kept her quiet and wondering about the man walking beside her. “A.J. and I live with Jesse, but he does spend most of his time in his room. It’s a big house,” she added after a pause. “The kitchen is about the only communal area.”

“Which suits you just fine, I’ll bet.” He caught her wary look, and his lips curved with a trace of laughter. “Your father-in-law’s temper is also legendary. Difficult, moody, irascible, gifted. All those terms and more have been used to describe Jesse Damon. I imagine you could add several adjectives to that list yourself.”

She could, but she had a sudden strange feeling that he knew already she wouldn’t. He seemed oddly in tune with her, and she found the thought both disquieting and pleasant. She was beginning to form quite a list of adjectives about Phillip — subtle, perceptive, smooth. Almost too smooth. And yet when he smiled....

“Here we are.” It was an inane announcement on her part, since he had stopped already and was looking at the shamrock design on the store’s plate glass window. Key in hand, Elleny turned and unlocked the door. She hesitated before going inside, aware of a half-formed impulse to make excuses for the tired, old building that housed the bookstore. After checking the impulse with a stern reminder that Phillip Kessler was a stranger whose opinion mattered not one bit to her, she glanced over her shoulder—and collided with the distinct approval in his eyes. “This is it,” she said in weak redundancy.

“Shamrock Secrets? That’s an unusual name for a bookstore.” He walked the few steps to the door and then followed her inside.

“Mark chose it.” Elleny moved to the counter, tucked her purse out of sight in the cupboard below the cash register, and began to unzip her coat. “He used to sign every picture with a small symbol shaped something like a shamrock before his name, and until he chose a title for the painting, he called it a shamrock secret. When I opened this store, it seemed appropriate to use the same name.”

“How long have you been in business?”

“Slightly over two years.”

“And you’re doing well?”

It was a question that bordered on prying, and Elleny felt a vague discomfort at his interest in her and her store. “Reasonably well,” she answered, and moved to the curtained partition that marked the doorway to the back room. With her hand on the curtain, she paused to be courteous. “I’ll just be a minute. Make yourself at home while I get the coffee started.”

A spark of amusement glinted deep in his eyes. “Does this town run on coffee? Or is that just your personal addiction?”

“Do you always say exactly what you think? Or does it just seem that way?” Elleny turned, letting the curtain fall closed behind her, wondering why she’d reacted so strongly to such an innocent remark.

Phillip watched the faded curtain sway and considered the possibility that he was wasting his time. There had been a definite warning to mend his manners in the pert straightening of her shoulders and the sassy toss of dusky hair. Elleny Damon was
not
what he’d expected.

She was—what? Different from the newspaper photograph in the file?

Certainly. Black and white tones couldn’t hope to rival the full effect of her wren-soft coloring. Her hair was dark brown, but shaded with light; her eyes were brown, too. A quiet, soothing brown that mirrored her thoughts and emotions ... or seemed to do so. Still, he’d recognized her the moment she’d entered the diner that morning, so the photograph hadn’t been too far off target. The difference was more of an overall impression, he decided. A feeling that she was somehow too fragile to have been Mark’s wife.

Phillip frowned with the thought and reminded himself that over the thirty-five years of his lifetime he’d discovered that people were seldom, if ever, as they first appeared to be. With a shrug he turned to make a slow assessing sweep of the room.

Dark wooden shelves lined much of the wall space, bright scraps of color pieced an unblocked quilt top that hung behind the old-fashioned counter. The cash register was worn and black. There were newspaper clippings and handwritten notes pinned and thumbtacked to the wall. A small table with two ladder-back chairs sat in one corner, and a gaily painted cart with a fold-down umbrella top occupied another. And there were books everywhere. On the shelves, on the table, on the cart, on the counter. Hard-cover editions lay open in invitation or closed in tempting mystery. Two circular racks held a myriad of paperbacks, and on the floor were carpet squares to lure younger readers to the juvenile fiction on the lower shelves. It was not like any bookstore he’d seen before, and he thought that under different circumstances he would have enjoyed browsing in the quaint shop.

In other circumstances, he would have enjoyed testing the boundaries of Elleny’s seeming innocence as well.

The frown returned as his thoughts came full circle. Elleny Damon was not his problem. He hadn’t come to this quiet Missouri town to investigate the secrets her autumn eyes and sweetly captivating smile.

His hand went to the buttons of his coat as he absently surveyed the rows of book titles. Turning slowly, he caught sight of a framed watercolor half-hidden by the angle of the shelving. In three steps he was standing before it, his pulse racing with a sudden rush of adrenaline. He pushed aside the heavy fabric of his coat to place hands at hips as he studied the painting from a distance of a couple of feet away and then moved nearer. Excitement died with closer examination. It was good, he admitted, but not good enough. Nothing was ever that easy.

Elleny paused in the doorway, hesitant to interrupt the concentrated attention Phillip was expending on the picture. A curve of satisfaction touched the corners of her mouth as it did whenever anyone admired Mark’s work. It was the same sort of feeling she got when she was complimented for her son’s precocious blue eyes and sun-bleached hair. She couldn’t take personal credit in either case, but the feeling of pride was there just the same.

The feeling evoked by Phillip Kessler, however, was quite a different matter and one that Elleny had been trying to put in the proper perspective. But just when she’d thought she had it well in hand, he did something —like standing perfectly still in the middle of the store —and for no apparent reason she felt younger, more vulnerable than she’d been for years.

Letting her fingers trail a wry path down the edge of the curtain, Elleny decided she was past the age to be entertaining such adolescent fancies. Phillip turned, and as his gaze fell on her, his expression changed from languid interest to a mysterious pleasure. On the other hand, Elleny decided, there was nothing wrong with being old enough to appreciate how wonderfully entertaining a fancy could be.

“That was the first painting Mark did for me.” She released her hold on the curtain and placed her palm against the metal trim of the counter. “It isn’t his best work, but it’s very special to me. I tend to be overly sentimental about places and things.”

“And people?” It was a gentle question, almost teasing, when accompanied by the throaty rumble of humor in his voice.

“I suppose so. What about you?”

The barest smile grazed his lips. “I try never to confuse sentiment with places, things, or people.” He glanced again at the painting and thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Did you keep most of Mark’s work after his death? I know none of his canvases have been offered at auction for some time. Do you think the market value will increase dramatically if you hold them back for a few more years?”

“I have no idea.” She stepped behind the counter and brushed her fingers across the cash register keys. The cold familiarity of the machine made her vividly conscious of the unfamiliar tension coiling inside her. Phillip Kessler obviously said what he thought without considering the effect, but Elleny honestly couldn’t blame him for the tight knot in her stomach. Selling Mark’s paintings was a touchy subject, an argument she’d had too many times and could never hope to win. She heard Phillip’s footsteps as he moved to the opposite side of the counter and prepared to be polite no matter what he might say.