The Colors of Love (14 page)

Paula exchanged a glance with Alex over Jamie's head, and Jamie forced herself not to twist around for a glance at his face.

"You'll have to excuse the chaos," said Paula. "My two-year-old, Danny..." She shrugged expressively.

"I'm fine with chaos," said Jamie with a smile.

But in contrast to Paula's warning, the house shone with orderly care. Hardwood floors gleamed in the hall. In the living room, deep pile carpet bore marks of recent vacuuming. The big oak coffee table in front of the long white leather sofa gleamed with polish, while glass shelves on the wall held fragile ornaments safely out of reach of a toddler's grasping hands. Even the brick fireplace had been forbidden to create a mess when the builders installed artificial logs and a gas burner.

Over the white stone mantel hung a striking wilderness picture of a cougar lying in long grass, its eyes staring out over the living room.

The only sign remotely resembling chaos was a multicolored assortment of plastic rings on the floor, surrounding a toddler who scrambled to his feet as they entered the living room, and ran bow-legged into Alex's arms, crying out, "Unca' Ales!"

Alex lifted him off his feet and swung him high, then gave the laughing boy a hug. "Hi there, Danny Boy. Where's your daddy?"

The boy squirmed out of his uncle's arms and grabbed his hand. "Come with," he said, and Alex followed, leaving Jamie alone with Paula.

"Alex says you're an artist?"

"That's right." Jamie slipped her hands into her jeans pockets, uncomfortable with this strange woman who defined
chaos
as a few toys scattered on the immaculate living room rug. "I have a showing at Northern Images right now."

Paula frowned. "That's one of the galleries in Pioneer Square, isn't it? I've been in there, I think."

Jamie smiled and hadn't a clue what to say.

"We have some McKenzie prints." Paula gestured to the cougar over the mantel. "Alex works with Emma, Gray McKenzie's wife. We saw this one when we went to Emma's wedding last year. Since then, we've become collectors."

"It's beautiful," said Jamie truthfully. "Look, can I help you with something? The dinner—"

"That's under control," Paula's said in a voice that told Jamie that this was not a woman who welcomed helpers in her kitchen. "Have a seat. What would you like to drink?"

"Nothing, thanks."

She sat on the long white sofa because it was obviously expected. She would have preferred to prowl, giving herself something to do by studying the picture over the mantel.

Paula perched on a brocade armchair and stretched down to pick up the plastic rings on the floor. "Do you live in Seattle?"

"Yes."

Paula stood gracefully and carried her collection of colorful rings to an ornate jade trunk that stood to one side of the fireplace. She lifted the lid and dropped the rings inside. Now the living room was perfect, every scrap of life hidden away, except for the cougar over the mantel.

"How did you meet Alex?"

Jamie shifted uncomfortably. She should have accepted the drink, then she could have turned the glass in her hands, staring down into the liquid instead of sitting here with her hands in her lap, feeling a wild urge to spring up and prowl until that carpet showed some sign of human occupation.

"We met at the hospital."

Paula nodded polite encouragement and Jamie had no choice but to go on. "My car struck a little girl. She seemed okay, but I brought her into the hospital to be sure."

"The child—?"

"She's fine. She was at my house yesterday, visiting."

Paula sank into the brocade chair, her hands curled around the arms. "I have such a horror of Danny going to school. One day he'll have to cross the street alone, and I couldn't bear it if a careless motorist struck him." She stood abruptly, brushing her shirt smooth. "I need to check something in the kitchen. I'll be right back."

Wonderful, thought Jamie. Alex thought she was irresponsible and selfish, while his sister now believed she was a criminally irresponsible child murderer on wheels.

A sleek, off-white cat strolled in through an open archway, turned its bony aristocratic head, and studied Jamie disdainfully.

"You, too?" muttered Jamie. "Give me a break here."

The cat circled the massive oak coffee table, then leapt up on the far end of the sofa. Jamie wondered if Paula had chosen the cat because it was a short-haired Siamese who probably wouldn't shed on the immaculate house.

"What's your name?" asked Jamie, stroking the cat's sleek white fur.

The cat jerked away from Jamie's touch, leapt to the floor, and stalked majestically to the jade trunk.

"Cat!" shouted a young voice.

Danny toddled into the room with his wide-legged stance, heading straight for the cat. Behind the boy, Jamie saw Alex and a tall blond man.

"Jamila Ferguson," said the blond man. "I'm Dennis Rogoza. Welcome to our house." His handshake was firm and warm, his smile difficult to resist.

"Call me Jamie. I think you know my father, James Ferguson."

"You're Jim's daughter?" A wide smile broke on his face. "Of course you are. Alex said you're an artist, and when he said
Jamila
I should have realized you must be Jamie. Jim told me about your showing, and I saw a piece in the paper last weekend. Sounds like you've made quite a splash in Seattle's art world. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

He sat in the brocade chair his wife had occupied only a moment ago, relaxing his long frame. He looked exactly what he was—an expensive accountant at rest, his gray tailored pants perfectly matched to the cashmere sweater he wore over a white shirt and tie.

Dress casually, Alex had said, but his brother-in-law wore formal-casual clothes, while his wife wore a blouse and skirt and conservative pumps. Even Alex, casual in cords and a blue silk shirt, looked somehow formal, and silent. He had walked to the fireplace, where he now stood, one hand absently scratching behind the white cat's ear as he stared up at the picture over the mantel. For once, he wasn't watching Jamie and she hoped it would stay that way.

Dennis stood and crossed to a sideboard. "You'll have a drink, Jamie? Sherry? Gin and tonic?"

"Just some tonic water, thanks."

"Alex?" Dennis asked. "Are you on call?"

"Not tonight."

Dennis delivered tonic water to Jamie, then poured Alex what might have been whiskey on the rocks.

Young Danny reached for the cat, which escaped and leapt up onto the sofa, settling in Jamie's lap. Jamie stroked the fur lightly, pleased when the cat seemed to accept the gesture.

"Art's a tough business," said Dennis. "I have some artists as clients and I know it's an uncertain life."

If Alex had made that comment, Jamie would have resented it. From Dennis, it wasn't offensive and she found herself smiling at him again.

"I don't believe any of us are thinking of money or security when we choose life as an artist. It's a profession that chooses us."

"A vocation," said Dennis, "in the old sense of a
calling."

"Exactly," she agreed, scratching behind the cat's ear in the way that Squiggles liked so much.

"Is it everything you hoped for when you began?"

"I don't know." She laughed, slightly flustered by the professional intensity with which Dennis studied her as he asked his questions. "I can't imagine not being an artist. I used to think I could have a conventional career with art as my hobby, but I was really only half alive."

"I envy you," said Dennis. "Not many of us have such a clear calling. Alex, of course, has wanted to heal children all his life. The choice was made for him, I suppose, by his early experiences and the sort of person he is."

She saw Alex stiffen, though he still stood silently at the fireplace, his glass untouched in his hand.

"And you?" asked Jamie.

Dennis shrugged and smiled, and she knew this smooth charm must make him popular with his clients. "I'm good with numbers. It's satisfying to turn that into something valuable to others, but I wouldn't call it a calling."

Danny toddled between the coffee table and sofa, stopping in front of Jamie.

"Don' pull tail," he ordered, pointing at the cat.

"I won't," promised Jamie, and Dennis laughed while Alex continued to watch from the fireplace, frowning slightly.

She would paint Alex like this, one hand holding the glass he seemed to have forgotten, his face a study in thought, as if he were considering a difficult diagnosis for one of his patients.

"Pet soft!" said Danny. "Pet cat soft!"

"Right," Jamie agreed.

"I'll just check on the progress of dinner," said Dennis.

Danny scrambled after him, then seemed to reconsider. He toddled back to Jamie and grasped her index finger with small pudgy fingers.

"Come!"

When Jamie moved to follow Danny, the cat stalked away, throwing her a haughty look through narrowed yellow eyes.

Danny led Jamie to the jade chest. "Open!" he ordered.

She glanced back at Alex. "Is it okay?"

He shrugged. Silent, so damned silent. Not anger exactly, but his body seemed cloaked in remoteness. Deliberately, she turned away and crouched to open the chest.

"Toys," said Danny.

"Lots of toys," she agreed.

He bent over the edge of the chest and grabbed a green plastic cell phone.

"Mine," he announced, pressing it to his ear. "My cellar phone."

"Right." She found a sickly blue plastic phone that looked like a match. "Shall we talk?"

Danny plopped down onto the floor. "
Lo!
" he shouted into the phone.

She put her phone to her ear and echoed, "Hello," and felt warm when Danny laughed. She dropped down to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of him. Behind her, she supposed Alex would be looking with disapproval.

Abruptly, Danny abandoned the cell phone and scrambled over to pull out a red plastic train locomotive. "Choo-choo," he announced.

Jamie found a yellow fire engine and gave a respectable imitation of a siren, and within minutes they had every toy out of the box, and were laughing at their own sound effects. When Paula's voice called her son's name, Jamie fancied they both gave a guilty jolt. Danny recovered first, grabbing the fire engine and giving his imitation of a siren.

"You're having fun, aren't you?" said Paula mildly. "Now let's put the toys away before dinner." Her eyes caught Jamie's and she said, "I'll feed him first, then we'll eat."

"I'll put the toys away," said Jamie, lifting two cell phones into the chest.

"Cellar phone!" shouted Danny. "Mine!"

"Not now," said Paula with quiet firmness. "Now put the toys away, Danny. Pick up the fire engine."

Pouting, the boy turned and dropped the fire engine into the chest.

"Now the locomotive."

Danny reached for the locomotive and pushed it over the deep pile carpet until it struck Jamie's knee. "Choo-choo!"

"Put it away."

Obviously, this was a regular routine, and soon Danny had replaced every toy they'd taken out over the last ten minutes.

When Paula hoisted her son on her hip and carried him away, Alex said coldly, "You looked as much of a child as Danny, sitting on the floor with his toys."

She twisted to see him, settling back on her heels, studying him as if he were a color she'd just mixed on her palette.

"How long is it since you sat on the floor?"

His smile lacked amusement. "I see more from up here."

"I expect you do," she agreed. She stood and crossed to the fireplace, let herself have the luxury of touching his cheek with her fingers.

She stared at the mountain lion, but its gleaming cougar eyes could tell her nothing. A life image taken by a photographer with an eye for color and form that gave it magic. She'd seen McKenzie's prints in a gallery, but never in a home. Alone in the room, the cougar dominated it with power and beauty.

Time for a change of subject, she decided.

"What's he like?"

"Who?"

"Gray McKenzie, the photographer who took this picture. Paula said you work with his wife."

"She's a pediatric orthopedic specialist."

"Impressive. And McKenzie?"

"Outdoors man. Tanned, muscular, observant, very intelligent, and according to Emma, stubborn as hell. His hair's much the same color as yours—shorter, of course."

She touched her hair, brushing a curl from her cheek. "Do you like him?"

"Very much."

"Yet he's an artist. I'm surprised you approve."

Dennis appeared in the doorway. "Dinner," he announced.

Alex gestured her to go ahead of him, and as she did, she felt an echo of what it must have been like in old stately homes where a gentleman offered an arm to escort his woman to dinner. But Alex offered neither his arm nor his hand.

The Rogozas' dining room sported another McKenzie print, this one a raccoon cub standing on a small wooden float at the edge of the ocean, head twisted as it stared back at the camera. Alex held a chair for Jamie. When everyone was seated, she found herself between Dennis and Paula, with Alex across the table.

"If Thurston doesn't like those numbers," said Dennis to Alex, "we can work up an alternate scenario."

"We'll talk about it later," said Alex.

So Alex's business with Dennis had something to do with the Thurston Foundation, but he didn't want to discuss it in front of her.

Dennis led a conversation about art that Jamie might have enjoyed if it weren't for the questions Paula inserted into the conversation. Didn't Jamie worry about the uncertainty of life as an artist? Did she ever think of doing something more... serious?

"I'm serious about my painting," snapped Jamie, deciding that she'd happily spend an hour talking with Dennis anytime, but Paula was something else.

She was relieved when Paula finally lost interest and turned her attention to her brother. But when she asked Alex, "How is that treatment center going?" he shrugged her question away.

Dinner was followed by strong black coffee, and by this time Jamie was so affected by the restrictive atmosphere created by Paula and Alex that she accepted a cup and even pretended to sip from it. Coffee... ugh! She'd had too much of it working in her father's accounting offices, had vowed never to touch the stuff again.