Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (13 page)

She entertained a tiny smile. She still wanted the opinion of someone whose specialty actually
was
art, but at least now she had something to go on. She reached for her purse, pulling out the neatly folded paper and opening it slowly. One point two million would buy her a lot of freedom.

She should be thrilled, so why was she letting that tiny twinge of guilt color her personal celebration? She deserved this. There was no reason why Sam or anybody else in this town ever had to know she had suspected the value of the painting when she bought it. They never had to find out anything, ever. So why did she still feel guilty?

Her nerves jumped as she remembered that the lobby would open soon. Giving her watch a quick check, she tucked the paper back into her purse and bounced to her feet. There wasn’t much time if she wanted to be ready for the pre-show crowd.

She crossed to the edge of the stand, reaching out to shut the lower half of the door. Just as she grabbed for it, she lurched back.

Sophia had moved into the doorway, and stood there with arms folded and shoulders rearing up like a cobra ready to strike. “Thanks a lot,” she hissed.

“For what?” Grace frowned. Like she needed
this
.

Sophia slanted an eyebrow in an apparent attempt to appear threatening. Her words stabbed. “For talking Devon out of giving me Mabel.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did. He told me.” She balled up her fists like a child about to launch into a tantrum.

Grace huffed out an impatient sigh. “Sophia, he’s the director. He cast the play, not me. I just made a few suggestions for the good of the show.”

“Yeah, well thanks for suggesting me right out of the best role of the season.” She edged further into the doorway, spreading her feet wide as if to make her petite frame appear larger. “I’m the one who told Nancy about
Pirates
. I’ve waited my whole life to play that role, and just in case you didn’t know, I always get the lead.”

“Apparently not
always
.” Grace indulged in a touch of sarcasm. “Nobody always gets the lead. You’re in a very small pond—”

“Maybe…” Sophia charged forward, quickly closing the three foot gap that had separated them. “But it’s my pond. And Devon is my…” She stopped herself, her eyes suddenly pooling with angst.

“Your what?” Grace folded her arms and jutted out a hip. Devon certainly hadn’t been acting like he was committed to Sophia. If she believed otherwise, she deserved to be set straight. “What exactly
is
he to you?”

Sophia’s eyes darted around the room. “He’s been staying at my house.”

“So that makes him what, your tenant?”

Her eyes zeroed in on Grace like lasers. “You have no right to horn in.”

“Horn in? Aren’t you being a little juvenile?”

“
Juvenile?
Is it juvenile to be angry at someone who breezes into town and starts taking away everything that should be mine?”

Grace rejected the little minx’s attempt at intimidation. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I? Would you like a list?”

“Is this about that painting? Because—”

“The painting, the leading role. Now you’re trying to take away my—”

“Your
what?
” Grace pinned her with her best diva glower. She hadn’t set out to find romance, but if one unfolded, she had every right to know where she stood.

Sophia pursed her lips and spoke in a voice so hot it could have creased a pair of trousers. “You know darn well what you’re doing, but it’s not going to work.” She took a step even closer, her words sharpening. “I saw him first.”

“You
saw
him first? What is he, a parking space?”

Sophia breathed out a snarl. She shot Grace a glare that would have simultaneously scorched and flash-frozen a lesser competitor in the field of infatuation. Grace smiled to herself. Actress Sophia had no idea what she was up against.

Sophia shifted back. She held up a pointy-tipped finger and aimed it at Grace. “You’re going to be sorry you ever came here.” Her steely stare lingered dramatically for just a moment before she reeled around and stormed off.

Oh brother
.

After all Grace had suffered in the last couple of years, Sophia’s sophomoric ranting didn’t seem like much of a threat.

Grace stooped to pick up her coffee goods. There was something troubling about her conversation with Sophia other than, of course, that Sophia had been in it.
You’re going to be sorry you ever came here
. Was she just a pesky little gnat buzzing in Grace’s ear, or was there actual meat to her menace?

It was probably nothing, but she did have to hand it to the little scenery-chewer. She had given quite a performance. Behind the infantile behavior lurked the spirit of a true diva.

Chapter 18

“Who wants a corn dog?”

Catching a drip of paint on her brush, Grace looked up to see Lucy setting lunch out on the new dining table. A flock of kids clamored around her like seagulls.

Grace sat back on her haunches. She had gotten so absorbed in painting the windowsill that she hadn’t noticed her living room had been transformed from cold and stark to warm and homey. No wonder everyone had been so enthusiastic about her adding color to this room.

She hadn’t expected so many volunteers to arrive at her door that morning. Didn’t these people have other things to do on a sunny Saturday? They’d been hard at work for several hours now and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Much to her surprise, so was she.

She lowered herself to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. It felt good to take a little break, although she appreciated that the painting had given her time to lose herself in her thoughts. Everything seemed to be falling nicely into place.

“Oh Grace, I meant to warn you.” Joanie called down from atop a ladder where she spread ‘cherry blossom pink’ on the wall over the front door. “My car…oops! I mean
your
car has a quirk.”

Grace picked up her brush. “Don’t we all?”

“That’s the truth.” Joanie crinkled her nose in a giggle. She looked like a person who would drive a Beetle. “Anyway, the passenger side door tends to stick, and the window crank is long gone. No big deal.”

Grace shrugged. “It’ll only be a big deal if my purse wants to bail out. So far that’s been my only passenger.”

“I meant to get it fixed before I sold it, but it slipped my mind. I never really had passengers eith—” Joanie launched backward as the front door opened beneath her. She gripped the top rung of the ladder just in time.

Sam looked up as he walked through the door. “Whoa. Sorry about that.”

Joanie smiled and resumed painting. “No problem, Sam. Where’ve you been all morning?”

“Mostly out in the garage mixing paint.”

Grace rolled her eyes. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about having him in her house, but he
did
know paint. He’d appointed himself head of the work crew and everyone seemed to be fine with that. Either they didn’t know what a jerk he was, or they’d reached a collective agreement to ignore it.

He looked around, saw her, and opened his mouth to speak. Without meaning to, she gave him the look that a critic had once described as a ‘searing glare’, and he stepped back. He looked around again.

“Hey Luce,” he said, shifting into the dining room and holding up a paint card. “This ‘lilac’ is for the front bedroom, right?”

Lucy nodded as she carefully took aim with a ketchup dispenser at a paper plate held by a bobbing tot.

“So,” he continued. “Which wall gets the ‘thistle’?”

“I don’t know, Sam. You’ll have to ask the lady of the house.”

Grace cringed. Why couldn’t Lucy just act as a go-between?

She went back to dabbing at the corners of her windowsill, sensing Sam’s pending approach. Let him think she didn’t know he was there.

“Gra…Miss Addison?”

Faking an intense focus, she kept her eyes on her detail work. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you when you’re in the middle of that, but would you mind coming with me for just a sec?”

She let the air exit loudly through her nose to convey her irritation. Why couldn’t he just ask her here?

She made a little show of extracting the last bit of paint from her brush and dabbing it with a cloth before setting it on the edge of her paint can. She stood, wiped her hands on the ratty jeans that Lucy had insisted she borrow, and made a lead-the-way motion.

She could have sworn he smirked as he turned toward the hallway. She’d had stagehands put on probation for lesser offenses. Who did he think he was?

Keeping a comfortable distance between them, she followed him to the front bedroom, which seemed to be the only room in the house that wasn’t overflowing with paintbrush-wielding good Samaritans. Sam walked to the middle of the room, stopping next to the mountain of drop cloth that looked more like the Matterhorn than her Lucy-gifted brass bed. She remained in the doorway, determined not to make herself vulnerable.

“So I’m wondering…” He turned, looked amused by her choice of a stopping point, and motioned toward the open cans of paint which stood in a tidy row near the side window. “Do you want the lighter tone to be on your south-facing or east-facing wall?”

A harrumphing noise escaped her throat. Which was which?

“Uh…that one.” She pointed toward the front of the house.

“Great instinct.” He smiled. “That’s what I was thinking too.”

Was he making fun of her?

He stepped toward the window and looked out, as if he had all the time in the world. Didn’t he have a room to paint?

“You’re lucky to have this window. The sun rising over those mountains is the greatest sight to wake up to.”

How was she supposed to react to that? It was none of his business what view she opened her eyes to and besides, she hadn’t actually noticed that the sun rose on this side of her house.

“Was that all?” She folded her arms.

He turned, his eyes dropping to the plastic-sheeted floor. “Yeah. Yeah, that was it.”

She gave up a tight-lipped smile and turned on her heel. A thought flipped into her head and she stopped, spinning again to face him. “Do you think you could build me a crate?”

His eyebrows shot up. He opened his mouth but the answer took its time coming out. “I guess so. Why?”

She instantly regretted having asked. Why did people have to question everything? “It’s just…something I need.”

“Of course.” His smarmy smile returned. “Ridiculous of me to think otherwise.” He crossed to the paint cans and bent to pick one up. “How big?”

“Huh? Oh.” Pleased that she’d actually measured, she spoke with authority. “Fifteen by eighteen inches. Six inches deep.”

He nodded, his mouth pulling up at the corners.

She hesitated, feeling the need to add more but not knowing what. “Don’t worry about a second coat in here. One should be plenty.” She winced. Who did she think she was, Bob Villa? Sam was the paint expert, not her.

He tossed her a bemused look as he carried the can to the front corner. “Why don’t we see how it looks before we make that call?”

“I just…don’t want you to waste paint.” That was stupid. Why couldn’t she just leave?

“I don’t want to waste either, but I want you to be happy with the result.” He knelt down to open the can.

She pulled in a deep breath. “It doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Oh.” He gave a perplexed nod. “Maybe we should just send everybody home now then. Tell them it doesn’t really matter if they finish.”

She creased her brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tipped the can, pouring the rich liquid into a paint tray. “Nothing. It’s just that the painting doesn’t seem to have much value to you.”

Anger gripped her. So, that’s what this was about—the painting. Had he realized his mistake and now he wanted to have it out with her? She stepped forward, opened her mouth, then turned and stomped back to shut the door. The whole town didn’t need to hear this. “What business is it of yours?”

“None.” He seemed pretty nonchalant for a guy who’d just been pinned by her ire. “Except that I’m one of the people
doing
this meaningless painting.”

Oh
. Grace’s argument caught in her throat. Of course.
That
painting. She slowly deflated like a tire with a tack in it. “I guess I have other priorities.”

He nodded in understanding as he twisted a long handle onto a roller. “Anything I can help you with? Besides the much-needed crate?”

She mentally ran down her list of concerns. “Yes. You can. Answer something for me.”

Anchoring the roller on the floor, he leaned on the handle. “Okay.”

She mapped out her words with care. “Your dad seems like a really sweet man. He runs a business that’s important to the community. He’s on the town council, for goodness sake.”

His look confirmed her comments.

“So why is he selling the theatre?”

The sideways bob of his head held the answer to be obvious. “Simple. He needs money.”

Money.
Of course
. Did he think she was dense? “I meant if he cares about the town, why is he selling to Langley?”

He huffed out a quick breath. “Nancy told you.”

“Don’t blame Nancy.” She held up a hand. “She’s really upset. And she feels powerless. She had to tell somebody.”

He raised a warning finger.

She held up her hands. “Don’t worry. I haven’t said a word.”

Relief eased his expression. “Good. If people find out about the casino—”

“It’s a
casino
. Don’t you think they’ll notice when their town starts to be visible from outer space?”

He gave her an
of course
look then turned, dipping his roller in the paint. He reached upward and a beautiful shade of lavender began to transform her wall. “We just want to keep our business private till the contract is signed.”

She perked up. “So, the deal’s not set? There’s still time for your dad to change his mind?”

“He’s not going to change his mind.”

“But—”

Sam snapped around so abruptly that a spray of paint arched across the room. “You don’t know what we’ve been through to get to this point. Nobody else could possibly come near Langley’s offer. Don’t you think we’ve looked at all the options?”