The Bull Rider’s Keeper (2 page)

“Heavens, why not? Is she not up to your standards?” Angie sped through the intersection as the light turned yellow.

Jesse didn’t answer, only raised his eyebrows as he stared at her. He tucked in his shirt and replaced the everyday leather belt with one that had his name engraved on the back, his latest championship buckle adorning the front.

“What? It wasn’t red.” Angie glanced at him, her brow furrowed. “And you’re trying to change the subject.”

“She wasn’t my type.” Jesse stared out the side window. No, the woman who had sat for class today wasn’t in his league. Not even close. He was a shimmer of light, and she was an exploding sun. No way would he be able to ask her out for coffee, much less anything else. What would they talk about? Professor DeMarco was out of her mind to think her daughter might say yes to a casual conversation with this bull rider who pretended to be an artist. For a moment, when their eyes had met, Jesse could see a past, present, and future with this woman all rolled up into one second. He shook his head. Maybe he’d find the one, someday. Right now, he was too busy to notice.

He watched as Angie pulled the car over to the curb and stopped in front of the airport departure area doors. After she slipped the car into park, he patted her hand. “Thanks for the ride, Mom.”

“I don’t know why you’re keeping your classes a secret from your brother. James and Lizzie would support you.” Angie shooed him away with her hand. “Just get going. And stop calling me Mom. Angie. I want you to call me Angie.”

Jesse reached over the seat and grabbed his black Stetson. After he’d slipped out of the front seat and retrieved his luggage, he stuck his head back in the front door. “Love you, Mom.”

He slammed the door shut and tapped on the car’s roof. Putting on his hat, he watched her speed away in the little sports car. She barely missed a cab whose driver had only thought he had the right of way. As he watched Angie leave, a striking brunette climbed out of a cab that had just arrived. The girl slowed her movement when she noticed him standing there, making sure he saw enough of her to entice. Catching her eye, he put on his million-watt grin, then tipped his hat and turned away. He had business to attend to.

Jesse walked up to the curbside check-in and handed his bag to the skycap. Barb stood just inside the glass doors of the terminal, glaring at him. He lifted his hand in a wave.

“Where you headed?” the older man asked, carrying Jesse’s bag to the counter.

There were so many answers to that question, but all the man really wanted to know was the next stop on Jesse’s tour.

“Cody, Wyoming.”

• • •

Taylor pulled on her robe, watching her mother interact with the remaining students. When she’d gotten the call this morning, she had wondered if maybe things were finally getting better between them. Stupid. Mom never just wanted to see her. No, it was always about something someone needed. And she continued to act like the dutiful daughter. Old habits die hard. She grabbed her bag and hurried into the bathroom attached to her mom’s office. Despite her working at a state university, Susan DeMarco got the best of everything. Of course, it didn’t hurt that her family owned the oldest art gallery in Boise, and they donated heavily toward the university’s public art program.

“It’s part of the image,” her mother would chirp if Taylor ever questioned their funding of some off-the-wall projects. At least she’d only had to work for the western art exhibit last year. Finding unknown and upcoming artists was like mining for diamonds or panning for gold. She smiled at the analogy.

Main Street Gallery was thriving under her control. They’d had some tough times in the past, but she knew if she could just get through December, she’d have her first year in the black. They had a major show next Monday, and she should have been at the gallery finalizing details instead of sitting for her mom’s class.

She thought about the man in the last row. He’d left early, right after she had caught him staring at her. Of course, that was what they were supposed to do—watch and draw—but for some reason, his attention had felt different. Like he could read her mind, or something. She shivered. Too bad she didn’t have time for a quick relationship. She had to get the gallery’s profit margin up soon. Her parents had dropped too many hints that they were running out of patience with her management. Taylor found herself remembering how the man had focused on the canvas. Then he’d turned those artist eyes on her, poring over her body so deeply that, sometimes, she had thought he could see through the drape. Hell, he’d seen her practically naked before class started—he had probably kept replaying the tape in his head of barging in on her. When the other men, little more than boys, in class looked at her, she felt naked, exposed. However, when that tall hunk of muscular man in the back stared, she’d felt a different emotion flow from him. She’d felt reverence. She blew out an exasperated sigh. Typical, she was reading too much into a look. Assuming the best out of men always caused her trouble.

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.