Walk in Beauty (7 page)

They walked a ways in silence. Luke wanted to hear her talk. He cast about for a subject that would be safe. “Your work must be doing pretty well, if you can threaten gallery owners.”

“Yes.” She smiled a little shyly. “I’m still surprised every time someone buys something, isn’t that silly?”

“Understandable.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. A New York gallery called a few weeks ago—nothing’s firm or anything, but they’re exploring the possibilities.”

“That’s great,” he said with a smile. “You know, you always had what it took. You just hadn’t found your style yet.”

“There’s always a lot of luck and timing involved, though. I know artists far more talented than I am who aren’t selling much.”

“Did you stick with portraits?”

Oddly, she blushed, and he remembered Giselle telling him that there was a portrait of Luke in her house. “Some, but they aren’t traditional.” She blew on her fingers. “What seems to be selling are my paintings of women.”

“Like what?”

“There’s a series about a midwife that I really enjoyed doing. In fact—” she gave him an impish smile “—you know who I used as my model?”

He shook his head, pleased at the animation lighting her golden eyes. “Tell me.”

“Mrs. O’Brien. Do you remember her?” She frowned. “Giselle, not so fast! Wait for us.”

Mrs. O’Brien—an Oregon widow who lived nearby the Columbia River. They had worked for her the summer before they came to Colorado. “How could I forget? She made the best biscuits I’ve ever tasted. I’ve been trying for years to figure out how she did it.”

“I know how,” Jessie said teasingly, with a smug toss of her head.

“You cook?”

She rolled her eyes. “That or starve to death. Giselle couldn’t grow up on fast food, now, could she?”

“Well, you gotta admit it wasn’t one of your strong suits.”

She shrugged. “No one ever taught me.”

Luke inclined his head in acknowledgment of the subtle reference to her mother.

He cleared his throat, unwilling to delve into anything gloomy this afternoon, not when the ease between them was so sweet. “I like the idea of Mrs. O’Brien as a midwife.”

“She was perfect, Luke.” Unconsciously, he was sure, she touched his arm, leaning close in her eagerness. “There’s one of her in an herb garden, with those gnarled hands and cornflower eyes.” She flashed a mocking grin. “I haven’t sold it yet, even though I’ve had several offers. Can’t seem to let it go right now.”

“I remember another one you didn’t want to sell—that tiny one of the little girl we saw in Tijuana?” He eyed Giselle’s back and tipped sideways to keep her in sight as she disappeared around a curve. “Not so fast, Giselle!”

“I sold that when I went to Albuquerque. It tided me over.”

That gave him a pang. Idly, he tapped the tobacco in his jacket pocket. “So what other kind of women do you paint?”

She gave him an uncertain look. “Are you really sure you want to hear this? Most people find descriptions of paintings pretty boring.”

“You forget, Jessie, I was your number-one fan a long time before anybody else realized how good you were.”

Her gaze didn’t stray, but he saw a flicker of something oddly stricken cross her face. “I didn’t forget.” With a little shrug, not looking at him, she said quietly, “I’m pretty sure there would have been no paintings at all if it hadn’t been for you.”

He touched her hand on his arm. “So tell me about them.”

She looked at him, then back toward the up sloping path. “Well, I just sold a group called ‘Canning Time.’ It’s kind of a historical feeling, I guess—the thirties. Four women doing all kinds of things in a kitchen—getting the fruit, washing it, laughing.”

“I’d really like to see them.”

Suddenly she seemed to realize how intimate they’d become, walking close on the snowy path, enveloped by the silence of the winter day. She snatched her hand back and slipped it deep into the pocket of her coat. His coat.

Luke let her retreat. In a moment, he heard her breathy hum start up again. This time, the song clicked in. “I’m On Fire.” Evidently, he wasn’t alone in remembering how it had been between them.

Biting back a grin, he started humming along, loud enough for her to hear. A bright pink splash of color flooded her cheeks. He nudged her gently, chuckling.

She bent her head, but said nothing.

They walked for a long time in the soft gray day. Jessie finally protested that she needed to rest, and they paused at the edge of a wide, high field, blanketed with unbroken snow. Giselle and Tasha raced into the snow, kicking up sprays and tumbling each other into it.

Luke felt the cold air and the brisk walk in his blood as a tingling glow. Next to him, Jessie leaned against a pine, laughing as she watched Giselle. “I should get her a dog,” she said. “I had no idea how much she liked them.”

“Tasha’s not just any dog. She’s the greatest dog I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Jessie grinned up at him, cocking her head. A fall of hair rippled down her arms. “What about Boris?”

“Yeah, Boris was great, too.” He rubbed his cold nose with cold fingers, thinking of the shepherd that had accompanied him on his wanderings for ten years. Every night for three weeks after Jessie left him, Boris had paced the house and howled mournfully.

“What happened to him?”

“He was so big, his hips started to go. I had to have him put to sleep. He couldn’t walk anymore—I even had to carry him outside to do his business.”

She regarded him steadily, a softness of sympathy in her eyes. It struck him all at once that it was
Jessie
standing here next to him. She was smiling gently, as if she wanted to tell him she knew how hard that had been for him, that she knew he’d wept privately when he buried his dog. She was the only one he’d ever let close enough to see that weakness in him. Embarrassed, he glanced away.

Overhead, an enormous blue jay—a camp robber—claimed a branch. With a flurry of wings and noisy straightening, he harangued the intruders, screeching at them like a fishwife to get out of his territory. Jessie laughed.

“You still like those evil creatures?” Luke asked.

“Yes, I do.” She grinned. “They’re sassy and strong.”

Drawn by her grin, he stepped closer and then paused. All at once, the tumult of emotions that had risen at the surprises of the past day dropped away. Left in its place was a calm, sharp desire—a hunger that had never ceased, not in eight years; a need that still thrummed through him, like the eternal sound of drums in a heartbeat. He wanted her. Plain. Simple. Clear.

He licked his lip. “You’re a blue jay,” he said, touching the array of bracelets on her wrist and then the earrings winking through her hair.

“Am I?”

Earlier, she had kept up walls of fear between them when he stood this close. Now there was nothing, only Luke and Jessie the way they’d always been. Before she could protest, he bent and brushed a kiss over her cold lips.

The contact sent a zinging rush over his nerves. In the tiny second it took, he felt the slight dryness of her chapped lips and a hint of the warm moisture beyond. Her hair brushed his cheek, and her chin jutted up a little so she could meet him halfway.

He lifted his eyes to meet her surprised gaze. A snowflake caught on her cheek and he brushed at it, feeling his heart thump and his soul swell a little from the headiness of finding something lost. In her eyes he caught a flicker of pain and fierce desire. He winked.

Before she could protest, he quickly stepped away and joined his daughter in the snow.

* * *

The walk back took much less time. Jessie felt oddly free and calm as they hiked down. She and Luke didn’t speak, but she felt his kiss lingering between them, not quite a promise, not fierce enough to be a threat. He seemed as content as she to simply be quiet.

Back at the truck, Giselle begged to be allowed to ride in the rear with Tasha. Jessie frowned, and Luke shook his head firmly. “Nope—there are tools and all kinds of other junk back there right now. Maybe another time.”

Exhausted by the long walk and her romp with Tasha, Giselle looked mutinous. Jessie recognized the expression and stepped forward to gather her into a hug before she fell to pieces. “I think,” she said to Luke over her daughter’s head, “we have one very tired young lady here.”

He returned her smile. “I’ve got some stew at the house. Some lunch and a nap and she’ll be fine.”

“I really think we need to go back to the hotel.”

“Why would you want to pay good money to eat at a bad restaurant when you can eat my home cooking for nothing?” he said lightly, opening the bed to let Tasha into the truck. “If you want to go back to the hotel after lunch, I’ll take you.”

Holding her daughter close to her chest, Jessie looked at him. His black, glossy hair was tousled from his play in the snow, and the wind had stung dusky color into his high cheekbones. Tasha leapt into the truck and turned to give an adoring, thankful lick to her master’s chin. Luke scrubbed her ruff, smiling fondly.

It was so easy for Luke, Jessie thought. He just opened up and loved things—dogs and cats and cloudy days and little girls. So easy. And they all loved him right back.

Just as Jessie had.

Her silence stretched a long time. Luke seemed to sense her gaze and he turned. Across the snowy ground, with a child of their making and a cold wind between them, they looked at each other. His strongly chiseled face was grave. She hoped hers showed nothing, but was afraid he could still read her all too well.

“Hotel or rabbit stew?” he asked at last.

Jessie couldn’t repress the chuckle that rose in her throat. “You didn’t tell me it was rabbit.”

He slammed the doors closed on the back of the truck and winked. “Tastes just like chicken,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

Jessie inclined her head, thinking with relish of his fragrant stews. “It’s been a long time.”

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded. “I guess it is.”

He grinned, and the expression gave his eyes a devilishly sexy tilt. “Will you show me how to make Mrs. O’Brien’s biscuits?”

“I don’t know,” she said, pretending reluctance. “Maybe her biscuits are one of those things that just needs a woman’s touch.”

“Maybe. It’s worth a try, eh?”

“Sure.”

Giselle fell asleep before they had driven out of the canyon. She slumped against Jessie’s shoulder. “I am definitely buying this child a dog,” Jessie said quietly. “Tasha wore her out—and believe me, that’s no small feat. She’s like that battery—she just keeps going and going and going…”

Luke glanced at the girl. “She’s out cold now.” He shook his head and signaled to join the main street out of the canyon. “She’s so much like Marcia, it’s almost eerie.”

“I guess you’ll want her to meet Giselle.”

A strange expression flickered over his face. “
Mmm.
”

“‘What?”

He touched his jaw, shifted the truck and glanced in the rearview mirror. “I, uh, already made arrangements. She’ll be here this afternoon sometime.”

“You had no right do that without my permission.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I did it last night when I was feeling so blown away. If you want me to take you to the hotel now, I will. Marcia doesn’t know it’s you guys—I just told her there was somebody I wanted her to meet.”

Jessie stared at him, holding the warm weight of her child against her, and suddenly realized it was not only Jessie who was upset by all this. Luke, too, had to grapple with the demons of the past. “No,” she said. “It’ll be all right.”

He gave her a grateful smile and reached over to touch her hand. “Thanks, Jessie.”

All at once she realized how much she had relaxed in his company. He was so damned easy to be around, so easy to talk to. He never seemed to expect anyone to be anything except just what they were.

Alarmed, she moved her hand gently from his and saw a ripple of hurt cross his features. Pressing her lips together, she resolutely turned her face to the window. “It’s only fair.”

His voice sounded tired as he said, “Fair doesn’t have much to do with any of this.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “I guess it doesn’t.”

A
t Luke’s house, he gave Jessie the keys. “I’ll get Giselle. Why don’t you get the door open?”

“I don’t mind, Luke. I carry her all the time.”

He shrugged. “I don’t.”

Jessie moved out of his way, watching as he scooped the child into his arms, shifting so her head fell on his shoulder. In spite of herself, Jessie smiled. Giselle’s mouth hung slack and her arms flopped around Luke’s shoulders.

As they neared the porch, a small yellow car pulled in front of the house, and a woman got out. Wearing an ivory serape striped with orange, she had ribbons of black hair cloaking her small, slim body, and a face open and mischievous at once.

Marcia.

Jessie glanced at Luke, then back to Marcia, who crossed the yard eagerly.

Marcia caught sight of Luke, with the child draped over his shoulder, then glanced at Jessie. A tangle of emotions crossed her mobile face—surprise, dismay, joy, excitement.

In twenty years, Jessie thought in astonishment, Giselle would look exactly like this woman. Exactly. And Giselle had inherited that same buoyant energy.

“Oh, my God,” Marcia cried at last, breaking the silent tableau on the lawn. “Jessie.” She shook her head, coming forward to take Jessie’s hands in hers. “Daniel didn’t tell me it was
you.
”

“I’m beginning to think Daniel had an agenda that had nothing to do with the project.” Jessie clasped Marcia’s small, cold hands in her own, tightly. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Ditto.” She laughed and hugged Jessie fiercely, then moved toward Luke. “She’s your daughter?”

Luke turned slightly, nodding. “She’s sound asleep right now. I’m gonna lay her down and you can talk to her later.”

Bustling forward, Jessie unlocked the door and stepped out of the way. Luke gave her a smile as he moved by, and somehow it lightened her heart a little. She smiled back, brushing the top of Giselle’s head as she passed.