The Bull Rider's Collection (41 page)

She was losing perspective. Ever since Brad had dumped her with the old, “it’s not you, it’s me” line, she’d been gun shy. Especially, since she’d found out he had been seeing other women while she was in the middle of planning their wedding.

There couldn’t have been that strong of a connection with the hot guy in the class; they hadn’t said a word to each other. However, for one second, when their gazes had locked, she’d felt drawn to him. It was the same feeling she got when she fell in love with a painting and, later, the artist. She was unable to tear her eyes away.

She pulled on her designer jeans and silky peach shirt. Slipping into her bejeweled flip-flops, she checked her messages. She texted a few responses to Brit back at the gallery. Brit had been her best friend in high school and now was more than an assistant. She swore the girl could read her mind. Hours spent together developing new shows and finding new artists had a tendency to do that to people.

Her stomach growled, and she glanced at the office door. She just had to wait for her mother to stop holding court with her students so Taylor could get out of there. Looking out the large window, she watched the river winding past the campus. A few joggers were running the greenbelt. The shop had kept her too busy. She hadn’t been running in weeks; her body yearned for the release.

Working downtown, Taylor never came to this part of Boise unless she was visiting or dropping off work from the gallery. Next year, if the gallery made it to the black and she had enough saved for a down payment on a house, she would consider buying in the nearby neighborhood. She’d need to see if she could find something far enough away to avoid the frat parties but close enough to walk to the campus for events. Or, maybe she’d buy a condo downtown overlooking the river. One good year with the gallery and she’d have her place.

Her thoughts were still lost in possible real estate choices when she felt her mom’s touch on her arm.

“Thanks for coming today. I don’t know what I would have done if you couldn’t have gotten away.” Her mom walked behind the old oak desk and slipped off her high heels, replacing them with a pair of ballerina flats. “I promised them a live model. How many times can you draw a bowl of fruit?”

Taylor turned away from the window. “As good as you look, you could have modeled for the class.”

Her mother laughed the tinkling laugh Taylor loved. “First Jesse Sullivan flirts with me, and now you’re being sweet? What happened? Is the moon blue?”

“Face it, Mom, you’re still hot.” Taylor grabbed her Vera bag, slipping it over her shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to the gallery.”

Her mom’s phone beeped with a text.
Here we go
, Taylor thought. The dean probably needed her to chair some black-tie charity event. Her mom read the message, then quickly keyed in a response, her fingers flying on the touch screen. Finished, she slipped the phone into her purse, and put her arm around Taylor.

“Come, have lunch with us. Your dad is waiting at that little Mexican place you love.” Susan paused at the door to lock the office, jangling her keys. “You drive. He’ll take me home after we eat.”

Taylor inwardly groaned. She’d assumed modeling for her mom’s art class had been the favor of the day. If they were having lunch with her father, well, that meant the world was ending. He never took time out of his day for family matters.
Please, don’t let it be the gallery,
she thought, throwing the wish into the universe. As she followed her mom, she couldn’t squelch the bad feeling growing in her stomach.

No matter where Taylor parked, her car always drew a crowd. Today, several guys hung around it, checking out the interior and rims, and challenging each other on the engine size. When she climbed into the driver’s side, she heard one of the young men tell the group, “I bet she has a sugar daddy.”

“Keep guessing,” she called back as she shoved the stick into reverse and backed out of the parking spot. She revved the motor and sped out onto the road, heading to the turnoff where the family-owned restaurant sat tucked into a side street, bordered by a residential area. Maria’s had been in business long before the current planning and zoning laws that frowned on the mixed-use concept came into existence. Her mom turned from staring out the open window to look at her daughter. “How are the preparations coming for Monday’s show? Is John excited?”

Now Taylor knew something had to be wrong. No way would her mom miss an opportunity to correct her on even the slightest error in good manners. “The guy is over the moon. He’s been in the gallery this week more than I have. He keeps changing his mind about the placement of the paintings. Today, I had to give him a deadline and told Brit to kick him out at noon.”

“Tortured artists are a handful.” Her mom smiled, her gaze distant. “I remember my first show when your grandfather ran the gallery. He made all the placement decisions. I knew I was going to fall flat and not sell a single item.”

Taylor pulled the sports car into a slot in front of the restaurant. She looked at her mom as she turned off the car, hoping her face would give away a clue to the real purpose of this impromptu family meeting. “And yet, you sold out.”

All she got was her mom’s bright smile in response. “Which caused your grandfather to send me on a trip to Paris to study at the Musée du Louvre. Your grandfather didn’t want me to be successful too quickly.” She dropped her voice in an imitation of the man. “Fast success creates lazy work.”

Susan laughed, then slipped out of the car and headed into the restaurant. She appeared to be in a hurry, or didn’t want to be alone with Taylor any longer than the short drive. Taylor scurried after her mom into Maria’s.

The smell of grilled onions and peppers hit her as soon as she opened the yellow door, causing her mouth to water. She smiled at the hostess who was dressed in a white peasant blouse and a colored, tiered skirt. The satin shimmered as the girl walked them to the booth where Taylor’s dad was seated. The lunch crowd had thinned. They were the only customers except for a young couple seated near the door.

Her dad stood to let her mom slide into the upholstered booth. Married thirty years, and he still treated her mother like a princess, delicate to the touch. His blue eyes sparkled as he watched his wife settle, then he turned his gaze on Taylor. He was still striking at his age, with salt and pepper hair, and laugh lines etched near his eyes. After all these years, her parents were still deeply in love.

“Hi, Dad.” She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “What brings you out with family on a weekday? No one else to schmooze?”

He put his hands on her arms and pulled her into a hug. When he released her, he pointed to the other bench. “Have a seat. Your mother and I want to talk to you.”

Taylor widened her eyes and tried for a shocked expression. “I can’t believe it. I thought my parents just wanted to have lunch with me. If this is about me moving out, you know I’m starting to look at places. I just want to make sure I don’t buy in haste and then regret the purchase. It’s a big step.”

Her father waved away the notion with a large, gnarled hand. He’d worked as a mechanic when he had met her mom, and he still loved tinkering with the old classics in the garage. Her mom hated his hobby, but he’d restored Taylor’s MGB for her high school graduation gift. “You can stay in the house as long as you need. We barely see you, anyway.”

“Then why the clandestine lunch meeting?” Taylor leaned back as the waitress delivered her shrimp fajitas and her mom’s three-cheese taco salad. Her dad had ordered for them. She would normally argue about that, but they both knew she would have ordered the same thing. She pulled out a warmed tortilla and started to layer the veggies, toppings, and shrimp on top.

“We just wanted to touch base with you.” His gaze darted back to her mom. “How are things at the gallery?”

Not the question she expected. “Besides being crazy busy getting ready for Monday’s opening? Fine, I guess. Brit’s been a lifesaver during the last month. I swear that girl could sell a toddler’s crayon drawing.” Taylor laughed. “You’ll never believe it, but she sold the last of the Markus prints to a collector last week.”

“The guy who was just arrested for trying to hold up a liquor store in his underwear last month?” Her dad laughed. “I thought we’d be stuck with his inventory for years.”

“Apparently, Brit convinced the guy that, since the artist would be unavailable for additional work for the next five-to-ten, his current pieces would be worth money down the line.” Taylor took a sip of water. “I swear, she’s Molly Sunshine, sometimes.”

“Brit’s a good employee.” Her mother focused on her salad, not looking up as she added, “Have you considered going to Europe this summer? You work so hard, maybe you need a break.”

Taylor shook her head. “No way can I get away for more than a weekend this year. We’ve got some amazing shows lined up in the next few months. With the longer days, and the city’s promotion trying to get people downtown on Wednesdays, we’ll be busier than ever.”

She watched her parents exchange a look and thought she saw her mother’s head shake in a silent message not to say anything. They were keeping something from her, she could tell.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Her mother’s question came out of nowhere.

Taylor smiled, catching on to their little secret. They were trying to set her up for a blind date, probably with one of her father’s many associates. An up-and-coming success story who was just perfect for her, since they were both single.

“Really, guys, I’m too involved with the gallery right now to even consider casual dating. If you’re concerned I’m still hung up on Brad, believe me, that’s not an issue. I just haven’t found Mr. Right.” Taylor’s thoughts went to the man from class. “Someday, I promise, you’ll have grandchildren. Just not tomorrow.”

“We just worry about you.” Her dad checked his watch. “I didn’t realize it was already this late.” He turned to her mother. “Ready, dear?”

Her mother pushed aside her half-eaten lunch. “I have some calls to make for the club that I’ve been putting off.” She stood and kissed Taylor on the cheek as her father threw some bills on the table. “We’ll see you later?”

“I’m planning on spending the weekend at the gallery, so don’t expect to see me much before Monday night.” Taylor watched her parents glance at each other again and groaned. They were matchmaking. Monday night there would be an extra man at the opening, who just so happened to stop in. “Look, I’m fine. Busy, but fine.”

Her father patted her hand. “We know you are. Just remember that we love you.”

Without another word, her parents hurried out of the restaurant, their heads together, whispering. Taylor watched them leave, knowing she was doomed to play nice with some guy on Monday. She didn’t have time for their games.

The waitress came by to clear off their plates. “Can I get you something else?”

Taylor glanced at her lunch. Might as well eat now; she’d probably be working late tonight. “Bring me a frozen margarita.”

After spending quality time with her folks, she needed a drink.

Taylor pulled up the top of her gold sequined dress once more as she looked in the mirror. She should have gone with her instincts and worn the blue halter. In this strapless outfit, she’d be constantly checking to make sure that the top wasn’t showing too much skin. She had to look like a professional. She looked at herself in the mirror, and the face of Main Street Gallery looked back at her. She’d studied for years at every art institution in the Northwest, trying to learn as much as she needed to be as good a manager as her grandfather had been. The place was her birthright, her heritage. No way would she let the Harrison name down. She sat on the edge of her bed, reaching out to scratch Miss Fitz’s stomach. The cocker was older than Taylor wanted to admit, but seemed to be in good health.

“Who’s a good dog?” She leaned in and gave Miss Fitz a kiss on the top of her buff-colored head. The dog wagged her tail and looked up expectantly.

“No walk tonight, buddy.” She pulled at the bodice one more time to make sure it was holding fast, and then grabbed her purse and keys. She had fifteen minutes to get across town so she could be in the gallery before the doors opened. She needed to double-check the details for the party. Time to show her parents that she was a confident and successful executive. Being late wouldn’t make the right impression.

She pressed a kiss to her grandfather’s picture on her dresser mirror and sprayed perfume on her neck as the finishing touch.

• • •

An hour later, the party was in full swing. Showcasing a new artist always worried her; she never knew if people would be interested enough in the promotion to take time out to attend an opening. Luckily, most of the art-buying players in Boise had returned to attending shows and opening their wallets a tad. The recession had hit the town pretty hard, but if the level of art purchases were any indication, they were starting to see an upturn. John was one of Taylor’s discoveries. She’d found him at a flea market, selling paintings for cheap to cover his rent. Taylor had given him her business card. Within a week, she’d contracted his collections. He had an amazing eye for a landscape artist, and many of the pieces they were showing tonight were of local spots Taylor knew people would recognize.

“You won’t believe this.” Brit handed her a glass of champagne. Taylor’s assistant wore a long black halter dress with a plunging neckline. It accented her figure, yet she still looked elegant. The girl could pull off a gunnysack.

“Don’t tell me something’s wrong. The caterers are out of food. The wine’s gone?” Taylor’s eyes widened. “The bathroom backed up.”

Brit slapped her on the arm. “You’re such a Negative Nancy. Why does something have to be wrong?”

Taylor breathed in a sigh of relief. “Things just seem to happen that way. You had me going for a minute. So what’s up?”

Brit took a sip from her glass. “The toilets are overflowing.”

Taylor choked. “What?”

Brit patted her on the back as Taylor coughed up champagne that had gone down the wrong tube. Taylor’s eyes watered. “Lighten up, I was kidding. But glad to know what gets you all freaked.”