The Bull Rider’s Keeper (3 page)

“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.”

“You’re not right, you know that?” Taylor dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, hoping her tears hadn’t wrecked her eye makeup.

“Don’t hate.” Brit raised her eyebrows. “Besides, I bring good news. We’ve already sold five of John’s paintings tonight.”

“Shut up.” Taylor wanted to squeal, or jump up and down, but her stilettos didn’t seem sturdy enough. “You’re teasing.”

“On my honor, I swear.” Brit grinned. “John’s over the moon. He’s been telling everyone how wonderful you are because you believed in him. I think he sang ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ a few times.”

“I’m so happy for him. I should go congratulate him.” Taylor searched the crowd, her gaze landing on her parents. They were talking to that hunk who had been in her mom’s drawing class. Wow, did the boy clean up good. She dropped her gaze down the length of his body, her breath catching a bit. If she weren’t on the clock tonight, he’d be in big trouble. It wouldn’t hurt her to be social for a few minutes. In fact, it would be rude not to say hello. She strolled toward the trio.

“Where are you going? John is on the other side of the gallery,” Brit called after her.

“Just checking in with the folks. Tell John I’ll be right there.” Taylor weaved her way through the crowd, grabbed a fresh glass from a waiter, and slid in next to her father. The three stopped talking and looked at her.

“Hey, pumpkin.” Her father beamed down at her. “You look great when you put on a dress. Need to do that more often.”

“Stop messing with her. Jesse Sullivan, you remember my daughter, Taylor?” Her mom lightly pushed Jesse closer.

The hunk, now known as Jesse, leaned forward and tapped his forehead in some sort of salute. “Good evening, Miss DeMarco.”

“Taylor, please.” Taylor tugged at the arm of her father’s jacket. “You’ll never believe this, but John’s already sold five pieces.”

“See, Jesse, I told you that you won’t regret this decision. John is just one of the many talented new artists my daughter has signed with the gallery.” Her father gave her a little squeeze.

Taylor tilted her head. “Oh, did you buy one of the paintings?” The man hadn’t looked like anything more than a student when she saw him in class. Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t come from money.

Jesse smiled. “You could say that.”

Her dad slapped him on the back. “Honey, you’re looking at the new owner of Main Street Gallery. Jesse just bought me out.”

• • •

Jesse watched the surprise fill Taylor’s face, then another emotion—anger? He must be misreading her. He’d just committed way too much of his personal winnings in an art gallery. Barb would kill him when she found out. He’d throw in a promise to ride for at least a few more seasons, just to make sure he didn’t lose everything. He should have waited. He should have said he’d think about it. However, when Professor DeMarco’s husband had mentioned that they were putting the gallery on the market, the words just fell out of his mouth.

It was typical Jesse Sullivan style. Talk first, ask questions later. Man, the family was going to laugh their asses off when he told them. The good news was that Mr. DeMarco had promised Taylor would stay on and manage the place, for the right salary. Jesse’s stomach rolled. He owned a business. He was the man. How could he be the man? He didn’t know anything about corporations, or businesses, or, his conscience added, art.

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this silent treatment. “I’m meeting with your father and my people tomorrow at the gallery. Do you want to join us?”

Her eyes widened and Jesse wondered if he’d said something wrong. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“I’ve got to go congratulate our artist.” She glanced at her dad and mom, who watched her very carefully. “Someone has to work around here.”

She spun around and Jesse watched her full skirt twirl. His fingers ached to pick up a pencil and start drawing the folds of that dress. Man, this girl got to him in ways he’d never imagined. Now he had to work with her on a daily basis. He was good and totally screwed.

Mr. DeMarco stared at the retreating form of his daughter. Finally, Susan broke the uncomfortable silence. “Rich, why don’t you take Jesse around the gallery and show him what he’s gotten himself into. Maybe we need to let him think on his decision for a while.”

Yes
, Jesse’s mind screamed,
an escape hatch
. He watched Taylor across the room, her hand on the artist’s arm as she threw her head back to laugh. He felt a stab of jealousy as she smiled at something the man said. Back out, now. Leave, and never return. Don’t throw good money after bad. Run. He thought all these things, and more. When he opened his mouth to speak, he said something that surprised him.

“I don’t want to back out. I want to buy the gallery, if you’ll sell it to me.” Jesse broke his gaze from watching Taylor and turned it back on the couple in front of him.

Rich slapped him on the back. “Now that’s what I like. A man who knows his mind.”

As they walked through the building Jesse had just bought, he thought about Rich’s pronouncement. The one thing Jesse had never been was someone who knew his own mind.

What in the world had he done?

• • •

The next morning he pulled the gang together for a family meeting. His family asked him that very same question more than once. His brother James and his brother’s wife Lizzie had Skyped into the meeting from their home in the mountains. Jesse could see their worried faces fill the laptop’s screen. Barb paced the kitchen where he and Angie sat around the computer.

“Maybe we should let Jesse talk,” his mother said again. Everyone had been talking over each other since he’d announced his plans to buy Main Street Gallery. No one listened, and the voices grew louder.

Jesse saw Angie grab her purse, and wondered if his mother had had enough and was planning a getaway. The woman didn’t deal with conflict, that he knew. An ear splitting horn pierced the cacophony of voices and the kitchen fell silent. Angie held an air horn in her hand. As she glanced around the room, she said, “Why don’t we let Jesse talk now?”

Barb stopped pacing and sat down at the table across from Jesse, glaring at Angie. “Like I can hear anything now, anyway.”

“You should have listened earlier.” Angie shrugged. Jesse tried not to smile. His mother had her own way of dealing with issues. Years in Las Vegas, married to what Jesse assumed was a low-level mob boss, had hardened the woman just a tad. Now she was trying to make amends to her family. Jesse gave her props for trying.

Jesse felt the attention slip from Angie to him. Nervous, he took a sip of coffee from the cup in front of him and almost choked. He glanced at his mother; she’d poured a shot of whiskey in the cup before she’d brought it to him. He blessed her for the liquid courage.

“I bought Main Street Gallery last night,” Jesse said. This had been as far as he’d gotten the first time before the room had erupted in chaos. He swallowed and went on. “I think it will be a good investment. And I have the money set aside, so I don’t know why you’re all so upset.”

Barb looked at him. “Jesse, you know that the initial investment isn’t all the money this is going to cost you. Have you looked at the company’s financials? Is it even making the rent? Alternatively, is payroll covered? People don’t sell profitable businesses, and in this economy, art isn’t high on most people’s lists of must-buys.”

“No, food is more important.” James spoke next. “Face it, Jesse, you got bamboozled. They were looking for a sucker, and you walked into their trap.” He glanced at Lizzie who had picked up one of the twins waving at the computer, trying to get Angie’s attention. “How’d they even find you? Or was this done over a few drinks?”

“The gallery has a great reputation. It’s one of the oldest, privately owned galleries in town. Artists who get their stuff in a show there take off; they’ve launched a lot of new talent.” Jesse said.

“And how would you know that?” James asked. “I’m sure a history of a local galleries wasn’t included in your finance classes at school.”

Angie nodded, encouraging him.

He took a breath.
In for a penny …
“I’m not majoring in finance. I’ve been taking art classes.”

The room stayed quiet. No one spoke until, finally, Angie piped up. “And he’s good, damn good.”

James shook his head. “I don’t believe you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, bro. Nevertheless, one thing’s for sure: it’s your money. Just don’t expect the rest of us to bail you out if you get in a jam.”

“Look, I’m not asking for money. Hell, I’m not even quitting riding.” When she heard Jesse’s words, Barb’s shoulders dropped in relief. “In fact, I’m probably going to have to ride at least another year. I’d planned on going out on top this year, but I’d like to build my savings back up before I charge into this full time.”

“I think you’re too late for that,” James said. Lizzie elbowed him, and he shot her a look. He leaned back and sighed. “But if this is what you want, we’ll support you.”

“Thanks.” Jesse glanced at Barb. As his manager, she could make his life hell for the next two years. “So, you on the Jesse train?”