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Before Nash studied that painting, he looked around at the others propped against the walls. The canvases were lined up, some overlapping. The colors were very much like the ones Cassie had chosen to use in the house. They were vibrant, with hot pinks and yellows and lime green, teal and even orange. And with those colors she’d captured her subjects beautifully—a hummingbird at a feeder, bluebonnets in a field with a child sitting with her back to the viewer, her blond hair blowing in the wind. Another one showcased an abstract cat, black and white against a sky-blue background. She’d also painted buildings that were a little more muted, a red barn and corral, a ramshackle house sitting in the woods, a blackbird sitting on a white fence. He could tell she was practicing styles, trying to find her own. Finally, his gaze fell to the canvas on the easel. This one was different from the others. Done mostly in pastels, it depicted an angel hovering over a child who was sitting on the grass reading a book. If it was up to Nash, he’d say that was her best work yet.
“How long did it take you to do these?” The creative process really did interest him.
“The past two years,” she said. “I sell them when I can. Art shows are the best, but I often don’t have time to give up a whole weekend for that.”
“You’re talented.” It wasn’t idle flattery. He meant it.
“Talent doesn’t always pay the bills,” she said, obviously being realistic about it. That was probably why she wanted to teach—for the consistent income.
Cassie was standing in front of the easel and he crossed to stand beside her. “I think that’s the best one.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Not the barn or the landscape outside of Austin?”
“Those are good,” he conceded. “And if I had a den I’d probably hang them there. But aren’t paintings supposed to evoke emotions?”
She pushed her hair away from her brow. “I’m surprised you know that.”
“Because I’m a financial consultant?” he teased.
She shrugged. “Something like that. I mean, most people don’t even know that that’s why they choose a particular painting. I think art customers buy the paintings they do because that particular work resurrects a memory or a feeling they once had...or a feeling they want to have now.”
Again, Nash was surprised at her insight.
“What?” she asked when she saw him studying her.
“You just surprise me, that’s all.”
They were standing very close now, facing each other. He could easily reach out and touch one of the waves of her hair that flowed near her cheek. He was so tempted to lean in a bit to see what she would do. But he knew he was playing with fire. He knew he was being foolish, and she must have known it, too.
Suddenly she took a step back.
But he wouldn’t let her escape just yet. “Are you sorry you brought me up here?”
“No, not sorry...” she trailed off, her voice a bit breathless.
He felt as if Cassie and her paintings had taken his breath away. “What then?”
In the afternoon light glowing through the window behind her, she looked vulnerable. “I don’t often show my work to just anybody.”
“You mean to a relative stranger?” he countered.
“Exactly.”
A knowing came to him so swiftly that words came out of his mouth that he didn’t expect. “After a few more days, I won’t be a stranger, will I?”
“Maybe not,” she murmured, then took another step back. “I have to make a grocery run and then prepare something for supper.”
“And I have a meeting,” he said, deciding if he was a financial consultant, he should meet with a client or two or three. After all, he now had boots to wear with a Western-cut jacket.
He motioned toward the stairs. “After you.”
Once they were both on the second floor again and the stairs had been raised into the ceiling, he said, “So...I’ll see you later. I have a few things I have to bring in from my SUV.” He headed off down the hall, grateful he’d found a way to exit.
Because he’d almost done exactly what he knew he shouldn’t. He’d almost kissed her.
* * *
Cassie was in the kitchen making a list of the groceries she’d need, trying not to think of her time with Nash in the attic. Just what had that been about? She’d felt such a pull toward him. He’d even seemed to understand her paintings. Unless that was an act...unless he was a player.
However, she didn’t think so. She wasn’t getting that vibe from him at all. Still, what did she know? It wasn’t as if she had dated very much.
Almost finished with her list, she heard Nash’s boots on the stairs. When he reached the first floor she glanced up and her heart beat in double time. He was wearing a Western-cut suit jacket, black dress jeans, white shirt and bolo tie. In his hands, he held his Stetson. He looked fantastic.
He turned toward her and smiled. “I thought you’d be out the door.”
Because she’d run away from him so fast? She waved to the list on the counter. “I need to make sure I have everything written down that I need so I don’t forget anything. Trips to the grocery store take too much time, and I don’t want to be running there more than I have to.”
“So you believe in efficiency? So do I.”
She must have still been staring at him because he asked with a grin, “Do I have shaving cream on my nose?”
She felt herself blushing. “No. Of course not. What restaurant are you going to?”
She definitely thought he was meeting someone for lunch. “I’m going to meet my client at his hotel and we’ll go from there. Do you have any suggestions?”
“There’s the Sundance Restaurant. Lots of business folk go there.”
“I’ll take that as a recommendation.”
“Is there anything special you’d like me to pick up at the grocery store, maybe for snacks?”
“Corn chips and salsa,” he responded with a wink.
“Mild or spicy?” she asked and then wondered if he thought that was a double entendre.
He must have because something sparked in his dark brown eyes. Something that made tingles dance on all her nerve endings.
“Definitely spicy,” he answered.
“Got it.” She definitely did. They were attracted to each other. Big-time.
He took his keys from his pocket and gave her a wave. “Have a good afternoon.”
She said goodbye but wasn’t sure he heard it because the door was already closing behind him.
She felt hot. How could a little conversation with a man make her feel hot? How could standing close to a man urge her to feel his kiss? How did looking at a man make her wish for so many things she couldn’t have?
It was simple, really. A man like Nash wouldn’t flirt with her at all if he knew her mother was in jail.
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