The Carlton family saga continues in this fan-favorite story of learning how to fall in love again by #1 New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods.

Despite the wealth and power of his remarkable family, Ben Carlton stayed hidden away in rural Virginia with only his artistic talent and his troubled memories for company. But when he met beautiful gallery owner Kathleen Dugan at the urging of his matchmaking aunt Destiny, his wounded heart began to open—yet he couldn’t completely forget the tragedies of his past.

Vivacious, driven Kathleen was intrigued not only by Ben’s paintings, but also by the handsome, mysterious man who created them. Were Ben’s wounds too deep for Kathleen to mend…or did Destiny create another perfect match?

Praise for the novels of Sherryl Woods

“Woods’ amazing grasp of human nature and the emotions that lie deep within us make this story universal.”

—RT Book Reviews on Driftwood Cottage

“Woods’ emotionally intense story of loss and love will appeal to a broad range of readers.”

—Booklist on Willow Brook Road

“Once again, Woods proves her expertise in matters of the heart as she gives us characters that we genuinely relate to and care about. A truly delightful read!”

—RT Book Reviews on Moonlight Cove

“Woods employs her signature elements—the Southern small-town atmosphere, the supportive network of friends and family, and the heartwarming romance—to great effect.”

—Booklist on A Slice of Heaven

“Woods…is noted for appealing character-driven stories that are often infused with the flavor and fragrance of the South.”

—Library Journal

“Woods delivers a charming novel…[a] unique blend of sparkling humor and family drama.”

—RT Book Reviews on Midnight Promises

Treasured
Sherryl Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Friends,

The Perfect Destinies series was originally issued as three Silhouette Special Edition books (Million-Dollar Destinies), with a longer follow-up work written for MIRA Books. I’m so pleased to have all of them available in these new editions from MIRA.

As many of you know, I’ve always loved writing about families. And in this case three sexy, very different brothers were raised by their madcap Aunt Destiny, after the tragic death of their parents. Think Auntie Mame for those of you old enough to remember that wonderful movie. Or meddling Mick O’Brien, if you’re a fan of my Chesapeake Shores series.

I hope you’ll enjoy revisiting the Carltons, if you’ve read these books before. And if you’re new to the series, I hope you’ll welcome the family into your heart as you have so many of my other families.

All best,

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Ben Carlton—He sees the world with an artist’s eye for detail. The youngest and least ambitious of the successful Carlton brothers, he’s usually content to let his brothers be the family headliners. But Ben’s sensitive soul cries out for someone who shares his vision of the world.

Kathleen Dugan—She doesn’t need much coaxing to recognize that Ben is a talented artist and a tortured soul. A successful gallery owner, she sees beauty in his art and fame in his future. But getting Ben to see what she does will take more than a twist of fate. It will take the kind of determination that’s her specialty.

Destiny Carlton—She knows that her youngest nephew has been twice burned by tragedy. Convincing him to love again will take every clever trick at her disposal, along with a woman who won’t take no for an answer. There’s not a doubt in Destiny’s mind that she’s found just the woman in Kathleen.

A man who’s closed himself off from love,

a woman with heart and Destiny’s touch.

It’s bound to be picture-perfect.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

Cast of Characters

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

1

It had been one of those Friday-night gallery receptions that made Kathleen Dugan wonder if she’d been wrong not to take a job teaching art in the local school system. Maybe putting finger paints in the hands of five-year-old kids would be more rewarding than trying to introduce the bold, vibrant works of an amazingly talented young artist to people who preferred bland and insipid.

Of course, it hadn’t helped that Boris Ostronovich spoke little English and took the temperamental-artist stereotype to new heights. He’d been sulking in a corner for the last two hours, a glass of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The cigarette had remained unlit only because Kathleen had threatened to close the show if he lit it up in direct defiance of fire codes, no-smoking policies and a whole list of personal objections.

All in all, the evening had pretty much been a disaster. Kathleen was willing to take responsibility for that. She hadn’t gauged correctly just how important it was for the artist to mingle and make small talk. She’d thought Boris’s work would sell itself. She’d discovered, instead, that people on the fence about a purchase were inclined to pass when they hadn’t exchanged so much as a civil word with the artist. In another minute or two, when the few remaining guests had cleared out of her gallery, Kathleen was inclined to join Boris in a good, old-fashioned, well-deserved funk. She might even have a couple of burning shots of straight vodka, assuming there was any left by then.

“Bad night, dear?”

Kathleen turned to find Destiny Carlton regarding her with sympathy. Destiny was not only an artist herself, she was a regular at Kathleen’s gallery in historic Old Town Alexandria, Virginia. Kathleen had been trying to wheedle a few of Destiny’s more recent paintings from her to sell, but so far Destiny had resisted all of her overtures.

Destiny considered herself a patron of the arts these days, not a painter. She said she merely dabbled on those increasingly rare occasions when she picked up a brush at all. She was adamant that she hadn’t done any work worthy of a showing since she’d closed her studio in the south of France over two decades ago.

Despite her disappointment, Kathleen considered Destiny to be a good friend. She could always be counted on to attend a show, if not to buy. And her understanding of the art world and her contacts had proven invaluable time and again as Kathleen worked to get her galley established.

“The worst,” Kathleen said, something she would never have admitted to anyone else.

“Don’t be discouraged. It happens that way sometimes. Not everyone appreciates genius when they first see it.”

Kathleen immediately brightened. “Then it isn’t just me? Boris’s work really is incredible?”

“Of course,” Destiny said with convincing enthusiasm. “It’s just not to everyone’s taste. He’ll find his audience and do rather well, I suspect. In fact, I was speaking to the paper’s art critic before he left. I think he plans to write something quite positive. You’ll be inundated with sales by this time next week. At the first whiff of a major new discovery, collectors will jump on the bandwagon, including some of those who left here tonight without buying anything.”

Kathleen sighed. “Thank you so much for saying that. I thought for a minute I’d completely lost my touch. Tonight was every gallery owner’s worst nightmare.”

“Only a momentary blip,” Destiny assured her. She glanced toward Boris. “How is he taking it?”

“Since he’s barely said two words all evening, even before the night was officially declared a disaster, it’s hard to tell,” Kathleen said. “Either he’s pining for his homeland or he had a lousy disposition even before the show. My guess is the latter. Until tonight I had no idea how important the artist’s charm could be.”

Destiny gave her a consoling look. “In the end it won’t matter. In fact, the instant the critics declare Boris a true modern-art genius, all those people he put off tonight will brag to their friends about the night they met the sullen, eccentric artist.”

Kathleen gave Destiny a warm hug. “Thank you so much for staying behind to tell me that.”

“Actually, I lingered till the others had gone because I wanted a moment alone with you.”

“Oh?”

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving, Kathleen? Are you going to Providence to visit your family?”

Kathleen frowned. She’d had a very tense conversation with her wealthy, socialite mother on that very topic earlier in the day, when she’d announced her intention to stay right here in Alexandria. She’d been reminded that all three current generations of Dugans gathered religiously for all major holidays. She’d been told that her absence was an affront to the family, a precursor to the breakdown of tradition. And on and on and on. It had been incredibly tedious and totally expected, which was why she’d put off making the call until this morning. Prudence Dugan was not put off easily, but Kathleen had held her ground for once.

“Actually I’m staying in town,” she told Destiny. “I have a lot of work to catch up on. And I don’t really want to close the gallery for the holiday weekend. I think business could be brisk on Friday and Saturday.”

Destiny beamed at her. “Then I would love it if you would spend Thanksgiving day with my family. We’ll all be at Ben’s farm. It’s lovely in Middleburg this time of year.”

Kathleen regarded her friend suspiciously. While they had become rather well acquainted in recent years, this was the first time Destiny had sought to include her in a family gathering.

“Won’t I be intruding?” she asked.

“Absolutely not. It will be a very low-key dinner for family and a few close friends. And it will give you a chance to see my nephew’s paintings and give me a professional opinion.”

Kathleen’s suspicions mounted. She knew for a fact that Destiny’s eye for art was every bit as good as her own. She also knew that Ben Carlton considered his painting to be little more than a hobby, something he loved to do. In fact, as far as she knew, he’d never sold his work. She suspected there was a good reason for that, that even he knew it wasn’t of the caliber needed to make a splash in the art world.

Every article she’d ever read about the three Carlton men had said very little about the reclusive youngest brother. Ben stayed out of the spotlight, which shone on businessman and politician Richard Carlton and football great Mack Carlton. There were rumors of a tragic love affair that had sent Ben into hiding, but none of those rumors had ever been publicly confirmed. However, brooding was the adjective that was most often applied whenever his name was mentioned.

“Is he thinking of selling his works?” Kathleen asked carefully, trying to figure out just what her friend was up to. Being first in line for a chance to show them would, indeed, be a major coup. There was bound to be a lot of curiosity about the Carlton who chose to stay out of the public eye, whether his paintings were any good or not.

“Heavens, no,” Destiny said, though there was a hint of dismay in her voice. “He’s very stubborn on that point, but I’d like to persuade him that a talent like his shouldn’t be hidden away in that drafty old barn of a studio out there.”

“And you think I might be able to change his mind when you haven’t succeeded?” Kathleen asked, her skepticism plain. Destiny had lots of practice wheedling million-dollar donations to her pet charities. Surely she could persuade her own nephew that he was talented.

“Perhaps. At the very least, you’ll give him another perspective. He thinks I’m totally biased.”

Never able to resist the chance that she might discover an exciting new talent, Kathleen finally nodded. She assured herself it was because she wanted a glimpse of the work, not the mysterious man. “I’d love to come for Thanksgiving. Where and when?”

Destiny beamed at her. “I’ll send over directions and the details first thing in the morning.” She headed for the door, looking oddly smug. “Oh, and wear that bright red silk tunic of yours, the one you had on at the Carlucci show. You looked stunning that night.”

Destiny was gone before Kathleen could think of a response, but the comment had set off alarm bells. Everyone in certain social circles in the Washington Metropolitan region knew about Destiny’s matchmaking schemes. While her behind-the-scenes plots had never made their way into the engagement or wedding announcements for Richard or Mack, they were hot gossip among the well-connected. And everyone was waiting to see what she would do to see Ben take the walk down the aisle.

Kathleen stared after her. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she whispered to Destiny’s retreating back. “I am not looking for a husband, especially not some wounded, artistic type.”

It was a type she knew all too well. It was the type she’d married, fought with and divorced. And while that had made her eminently qualified to run an art gallery and cope with artistic temperament, it had also strengthened her resolve never, ever, to be swept off her feet by another artist.

Tim Radnor had been kind and sensitive when they’d first met. He’d adored Kathleen, claiming she was his muse. But when his work faltered, she’d discovered that he had a cruel streak. There had been flashes of temper and stormy torrents of hurtful words. He’d never laid a hand on her, but his verbal abuse had been just as intolerable. Her marriage had been over within months. Healing had taken much longer.

As a result of that tumultuous marriage, she could deal with the craziness when it came to business, but not when it affected her heart.

If romance was on Destiny’s mind, she was doomed to disappointment, Kathleen thought, already steeling her resolve. Ben Carlton could be the sexiest, most charming and most talented artist on the planet and it wouldn’t matter. She would remain immune, because she knew all too well the dark side of an artistic temperament.

Firm words. Powerful resolve. She had ’em both. But just in case, Kathleen gazed skyward. “Help me out here, okay?”

“Is trouble?” a deep male voice asked quizzically.

Kathleen jumped. She’d forgotten all about Boris. Turning, she faced him and forced a smile. “No trouble, Boris. None at all.” She would see to it.

* * *

Only a faint, pale hint of sunlight streamed across the canvas, but Ben Carlton was hardly aware that night was falling. It was like this when a painting was nearing completion. All he could see was what was in front of his eyes, the layers of color, the image slowly unfolding, capturing a moment in time, an impression he was terrified would be lost if he let it go before the last stroke was done. When natural light faded, he automatically adjusted the artificial light without really thinking about it.

“I should have known,” a faintly exasperated female voice said, cutting through the silence.

He blinked at the interruption. No one came to his studio when he was working, not without risking his wrath. It was the one rule in a family that tended to defy rules.

“Go away,” he muttered, his own impatience as evident as the annoyance in his aunt’s voice.

“I most certainly will not go away,” Destiny said. “Have you forgotten what day this is? What time it is?”

He struggled to hold on to the image in his head, but it fluttered like a snapshot caught by a breeze, then vanished. He sighed, then slowly turned to face his aunt.

“It’s Thursday,” he said to prove that he was not as oblivious as she’d assumed.

Destiny Carlton gave him a look filled with tolerant amusement. “Any particular Thursday?”

Ben dragged a hand through his hair and tried to remember what might be the least bit special about this particular Thursday. He was not the kind of man who paid attention to details, unless they were the sort of details going into one of his paintings. Then he could remember every nuance of light and texture.

“A holiday,” she hinted. “One when the entire family gathers together to give thanks, a family that is currently waiting for their host while the turkey gets cold and the rolls burn.”

“Aw, hell,” he muttered. “I forgot all about Thanksgiving. Everyone’s here already?”

“They have been for some time. Your brothers threatened to eat every bite of the holiday feast and leave you nothing, but I convinced them to let me try to drag you away from your painting.” She stepped closer and eyed the canvas with a critical eye. “It’s amazing, Ben. No one captures the beauty of this part of the world the way you do.”

He grinned at the high praise. “Not even you? You taught me everything I know.”

“When you were eight, I put a brush in your hand and taught you technique. You have the natural talent. It’s extraordinary. I dabbled. You’re a genius.”

“Oh, please,” he said, waving off the praise.

Painting had always given him peace of mind, a sense of control over the chaotic world around him. When his parents had died in a plane crash, he’d needed to find something that made sense, something that wouldn’t abandon him. Destiny had bought him his first set of paints, taken him with her to a sidewalk near the family home on a charming, shaded street in Old Town Alexandria and told him to paint what he saw.

That first crude attempt still hung in the old town house where she continued to live alone now that he and his brothers had moved on with their lives. She insisted it was her most prized possession because it showed the promise of what he could become. She’d squirreled away some of Richard’s early business plans and Mack’s football trophies for the same reason. Destiny could be cool and calculating when necessary, but for the most part she was ruled by sentiment.

Richard had been clever with money and business. Mack was athletic. Ben had felt neither an interest in the family company nor in sports. Even when his parents were alive, he’d felt desperately alone, a sensitive misfit in a family of achievers. The day Destiny had handed him those paints, his aunt had given him a sense of pride and purpose. She’d told him that, like her, he brought another dimension to the well-respected family name and that he was never to dismiss the importance of what he could do that the others couldn’t. After that, it had been easier to take his brothers’ teasing and to dish out a fair amount of his own. He imagined he was going to be in for a ton of it this evening for missing his own party.

Having the holiday dinner at his place in the country had been Destiny’s idea. Ben didn’t entertain. He knew his way around a kitchen well enough to keep from starving, but certainly not well enough to foist what he cooked on to unsuspecting company. Destiny had dismissed every objection and arrived three days ago to take charge, bringing along the family’s longtime housekeeper to clean and to prepare the meal.

If anyone else had tried taking over his life that way, Ben would have rebelled, but he owed his aunt too much. Besides, she understood his need for solitude better than anyone. Ever since Graciela’s death, Ben had immersed himself in his art. The canvas and paints didn’t make judgments. They didn’t place blame. He could control them, as he couldn’t control his own thoughts or his own sense of guilt over Graciela’s accident on that awful night three years ago.

But if Destiny understood all that, she also seemed to know instinctively when he’d buried himself in his work for too long. That’s when she’d dream up some excuse to take him away from his studio and draw him back into the real world. Tonight’s holiday celebration was meant to be one of those occasions. Her one slipup had been not reminding him this morning that today was the day company was coming.

“Give me ten minutes,” he told her now. “I’ll clean up.”

“Too late for that. Melanie is pregnant and starving. She’ll eat the flower arrangement if we don’t offer an alternative soon. Besides, the company is beginning to wonder if we’ve just taken over some stranger’s house. They need to meet you. You’ll make up in charm what you lack in sartorial splendor.”

“I have paint on my clothes,” he protested, then gave her a hard look as what she’d said finally sank in. “Company? You mean besides Richard and Mack and their wives? Did you say anything about company when you badgered me into having Thanksgiving here?”

“I’m sure I did,” she said blithely.

She hadn’t, and they both knew it, which meant she was scheming about something more than relieving his solitude. When they reached the house, Ben immediately understood what she was up to.

“And, darling, this is Kathleen Dugan,” Destiny said, after introducing several other strangers who were part of the rag-tag group of people Destiny had collected because she knew they had no place else to spend the holiday. There was little question, judging from her tone, that this Kathleen was the pièce de résistance.

He gave his aunt a sharp look. Kathleen was young, beautiful and here alone, which suggested she was available. He’d known for some time now—since Mack’s recent wedding, in fact—that Destiny had targeted him for her next matchmaking scheme. Here was his proof—a woman with a fringe of black hair in a pixie cut that emphasized her cheekbones and her amazing violet eyes. There wasn’t an artist on earth who wouldn’t want to capture that interesting, angular face on canvas. Not that Ben ever did portraits, but even he was tempted to break his hard-and-fast rule. She was stunning in a red silk tunic that skimmed over a slender figure. She wore it over black pants and accented it with a necklace of chunky beads in gold and red. The look was elegant and just a touch avant-garde.

“Lovely to meet you,” Kathleen said with a soft smile that showed no hint of the awkwardness Ben was feeling. Clearly she hadn’t caught on to the scheme yet.

Ben nodded. He politely shook her hand, felt a startling jolt of awareness, then took another look into her eyes to see if she’d felt the same little zing. She showed no evidence of it, thank heavens.

“If you’ll excuse my totally inappropriate attire,” Ben said, quickly turning away from her and addressing the others, “I gather dinner is ready to be served.”

“We’ve time for another drink,” Destiny insisted, apparently no longer worried about the delayed meal. “Richard, bring your brother something. He can spend at least a few minutes socializing before we sit down to eat.”

Ben frowned at her. “I thought we were in a rush.”

“Only to drag you in here,” his very pregnant sister-in-law said as she came and linked an arm through his, drawing him out of the spotlight, even as she whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t you know that you’re the main attraction?”

He gave Melanie a sharp look. They’d formed a bond back when Richard had been fighting his attraction to her. Ben trusted her instincts. He wanted to hear her take on this gathering. “Oh?”

“You never come out of this lair of yours,” Melanie explained. “When Destiny invited us here, we figured something was up.”

“Oh?” he said again, waiting to see if she’d drawn the same conclusion about Kathleen’s presence here that he had. “Such as?”

Melanie studied him intently. “You really don’t know what Destiny is up to? You’re as much in the dark as the rest of us?”

Ben glanced toward Kathleen, then. “Not as much as you might think,” he said with a faint scowl.

Melanie gave the newcomer a knowing look. “Ah, so that’s it. I wondered when Kathleen arrived if she was the chosen one. I figured it was going to be your turn soon. Destiny won’t be entirely happy until all of her men are settled.”

“I hope you’re wrong about that,” Ben said darkly. “I’d hate to disappoint her, but I am settled.”

Richard overheard him and chuckled. “Oh, bro, if that’s what you think, you’re delusional.” He, too, glanced toward Kathleen, whose head was tilted as she listened intently to something Destiny was saying. “I give you till May.”

“June,” Mack chimed in. “Destiny’s been moping because none of us had a traditional June wedding. You’re all she’s got left, little brother. She won’t allow you to let her down. I caught her out in the garden earlier. I think she was mentally seating the guests and envisioning the perfect area for the reception.”

Ben shuddered. Richard and Mack had once been as fiercely adamant about not getting married as he was. Look at the two of them now. Richard even had a baby on the way, and Mack and Beth were talking about adopting one of the sick kids she worked with at the hospital. Maybe more. To his astonishment, those two seemed destined for a houseful. By this time next year, there would be the cries of children filling this house and any other place the Carlton family gathered. No one needed him adding to the clutter. He doubted Destiny saw it that way, though.

There were very few things that Ben wouldn’t do for his aunt. Getting married was one of them. He liked his solitude. After the chaotic upheaval of his early years, he counted on the predictability of his quiet life in the country. Graciela had given him a reprieve from that, but then she, too, had died, and it had reinforced his commitment to go through life with his heart under the tightest possible wraps. Those who wrote that he was prone to dark moods and eccentricities had gotten it exactly right. There would be no more nicks in his armor, no more devastating pain to endure.

His resolve steady and sure, he risked another look at Kathleen Dugan, then belatedly saw the smug expression on his aunt’s face when she caught him.

Ben sighed, then stood a little straighter, stiffening his spine, giving Destiny a daunting look. She didn’t bat so much as an eyelash. That was the trouble with his aunt. She rarely took no for an answer. She was persuasive and sneaky. If he didn’t take a firm stand right here, right now, he was doomed.

Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t think of a single way to make his position clear over turkey and dressing.

He could always say, “So glad you could come, Kathleen, but don’t get any ideas.”

Or, “Delighted to meet you, Ms. Dugan, but ignore every word out of my aunt’s mouth. She’s devious and clever and not to be trusted.”

Or maybe he should simply say nothing at all, just ignore the woman and avoid his aunt. If he could endure the next couple of hours, they’d all be gone and that would be that. He could bar the gates and go back into seclusion.

Perfect, he concluded. That was definitely the way to go. No overt rudeness that would come back to haunt him. No throwing down of the gauntlet. Just passive acceptance of Kathleen’s presence here tonight.

Satisfied with that solution, he turned his attention to the drink Richard had thrust in his hand. A sniff reassured him it was nonalcoholic. He hadn’t touched a drop of anything stronger than beer since the night of Graciela’s accident.

“Darling,” Destiny said, her gaze on him as she crossed the room, Kathleen at her side. “Did I mention earlier that Kathleen owns an art gallery?”

Next to him Melanie choked back a laugh. Richard and Mack smirked. Ben wanted nothing more than to pummel his brothers for getting so much enjoyment out of his discomfort at his aunt’s obvious ploy. Kathleen was her handpicked choice for him, all right. There was no longer any question about that.

“Really?” he said tightly.

“She has the most amazing work on display there now,” Destiny continued blithely. “You should stop by and take a look.”

Ben cast a helpless look in Kathleen’s direction. She now looked every bit as uncomfortable as he felt. “Maybe I will one of these days.” When hell freezes over, he thought even as he muttered the polite words.

“I’d love to have your opinion,” Kathleen said gamely.

“My opinion’s not worth much,” Ben said. “Destiny’s the family expert.”

Kathleen held his gaze. “But most artists have an eye for recognizing talent,” she argued.

Ben barely contained a sigh. Surely Kathleen was smart enough not to fall into his aunt’s trap. He wanted to warn her to run for her life, to skip the turkey, the dressing and the pumpkin pie and head back to Alexandria as quickly as possible and bar the door of her gallery from anyone named Carlton. He was tempted to point to Melanie and Beth and explain how they’d unwittingly fallen in with his aunt’s schemes, but he doubted his sisters-in-law would appreciate the suggestion that their marriages were anything other than heaven-sent. They both seemed to have revised history to their liking after the wedding ceremonies.

Instead he merely said, “I’m not an artist.”

“Of course you are,” Destiny declared indignantly. “An exceptionally talented one at that. Why would you say such a thing, Ben?”

To get out of being drawn any further into this web, he very nearly shouted. He looked his aunt in the eye. “Are you an artist?”

“Not anymore,” she said at once.

“Because you no longer paint?” he pressed.

Destiny frowned at him. “I still dabble.”

“Then it must be because you don’t show or sell your work,” he said. “Is that why you’re no longer an artist?”

“Yes,” she said at once. “That’s it exactly.”

He gave Destiny a triumphant look. “Neither do I. No shows. No sales. I dabble.” He found himself winking at Kathleen. “I guess we can forget about me offering a professional opinion on your current show.”

A grin tugged at the corners of Kathleen’s mouth. “Clever,” she praised.

“Too clever for his own good,” Destiny muttered.

“Uh-oh,” Mack murmured, grinning broadly. “You’ve done it now, Ben. Destiny’s on the warpath. You’re doomed.”

Funny, Ben thought, glancing around the room at the sea of amused expressions, that was the same conclusion he’d reached about an hour ago. He should have quit back then and saved himself the aggravation.

2

Kathleen felt as if the undercurrents swirling around Ben Carlton’s living room were about to drag her under. Every single suspicion she’d had about the real reason she’d been invited tonight was being confirmed with every subtle dig, every dark look between Ben and his aunt. Even his brothers and sisters-in-law seemed to be in on the game and were enjoying it thoroughly. In fact, she was the only one who didn’t seem to get the rules. If she could have fled without appearing unbearably rude, she might have.

“Would you like to freshen up before dinner?” Beth Carlton asked, regarding her with sympathy.

If it meant escaping from this room, Kathleen would have agreed to join a trek across the still-green fields of winter wheat that stretched as far as the eye could see.

“Yes, please,” she said gratefully.

“I’ll show you where the powder room is,” Beth said.

The minute they were out of earshot of the others, Beth gave her a warm smile. “Feel as if you’re caught in an intricate web you didn’t even realize was being spun?”

Kathleen nodded. “Worse, I have no idea how I got there. Am I some sort of sacrificial lamb?”

“Pretty much,” Beth said. “Believe me, Melanie and I know exactly how you feel. We’ve been there. We were tangled up with Carlton men before we knew it.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a way out?” Kathleen asked.

“Obviously neither of us found one,” Beth said cheerfully. “Maybe you’ll be the exception. Right now she’s batting two for two, but Destiny’s track record is bound to falter sooner or later.”

Kathleen studied the pediatric oncologist who’d married Mack. Beth Carlton struck her as quiet, intelligent and lovely in an understated way, very much the opposite of Kathleen’s eccentricity and flamboyance. It was hard to imagine that the same woman would have chosen them as potential marriage material for beloved nephews. Then, again, Ben was a far cry from his more outgoing, athletic brother. Destiny obviously knew her nephews well. As Beth had just noted, her knack for choosing the right women was outstanding.

“Then I’m not crazy,” Kathleen ventured carefully. “Destiny is plotting to set me up with Ben? She didn’t get me out here just to look at his art?”

Beth’s grin spread. “Have you actually seen a single canvas since you arrived?”

“No.”

“Were you asked to tag along when Destiny went to fetch Ben from his studio?”

“No.”

Beth took a little bow, her expression amused. “I rest my case.”

“But why me?” Kathleen couldn’t keep the plaintive note out of her voice.

“Believe me, I asked the same thing when I realized what Destiny was up to with me and Mack. He was a professional football player, for heaven’s sakes, and I’d never even watched a game. At least you and Ben have art in common. On the surface you’re a much better match than Mack and I were.”

“But Destiny got it right with the two of you, didn’t she?” Kathleen concluded.

“Exactly right,” Beth admitted happily. “She was absolutely on target with Richard and Melanie, too, though they fought it just as hard as Mack and I did. My advice is to go with the flow and see what happens. Assuming you ever want to get married, maybe having a woman with Destiny’s intuition in your corner is not all bad.”

“But I’m not looking for a husband,” Kathleen protested. “Especially not an artist. I was married to one once. It did not turn out well.”

Beth’s expression turned thoughtful. “Does Destiny know about that?”

Kathleen shook her head. “I doubt it. I don’t talk about it, and I took back my maiden name after the divorce.”

“Let me think about this a minute,” Beth said, then gestured toward a door. “The powder room’s in there. I’ll wait right here to show you the way to the dining room.”

When Kathleen emerged a few minutes later, she found Beth and Melanie huddled together. They glanced up and beamed at her.

“So, here’s the way we see it,” Beth said. “Either Destiny knows about your past and figures that will make you a real challenge for Ben.”

“Or she’s made a serious miscalculation,” Melanie said, grinning. “I like that one. Just once I’d like to see her get it wrong. No offense.”

“None taken,” Kathleen said, liking these two women immensely. She had a feeling their advice was going to be invaluable if she was to evade Destiny Carlton’s snare. With any luck Ben would be equally appalled by this scheme, and the whole crazy thing would die for lack of participation by either one of them. He certainly hadn’t looked especially happy earlier.

“We’d better go in to dinner before Destiny comes looking for us,” Beth said, casting a worried look in the direction of the living room. “Destiny’s allowed her conspiracies. Ours make her nervous.”

“Why is that?” Kathleen asked.

“Because we’re on to her,” Melanie explained. “She was terrified I’d warn Beth away. Now she’s equally worried that we might gang up and help you escape her clutches. I think she anticipates that the day will come when we’ll get even with her, even though we’re happy about the outcome of her machinations.” She gave Kathleen the same sort of sympathetic look Beth had given her earlier. “We will, you know. If you need backup, just holler. We love Ben and we want to see him happy, but we also feel a certain amount of loyalty to any woman caught up in one of Destiny’s matchmaking plots. It’s a sisterhood thing.”

Kathleen listened to the offer with amusement. Now that she’d been forewarned about the lengths to which Destiny might go, she felt much more confident that she was prepared to deal with her. “Don’t worry. I think I can handle Destiny.”

The declaration drew hoots of laughter. Despite her confidence in her own willpower and strength, that laughter gave Kathleen pause. That was the voice of experience responding. Two voices, in fact.

“Maybe I’d better get your phone numbers, just in case,” she said as they walked toward the dining room where the other guests had now assembled.

In the doorway, Destiny gave them all a sharp look, then beamed at Kathleen. “Come, dear, I’ve seated you next to Ben.”

Of course she had, Kathleen thought, fighting a renewed surge of panic. She avoided glancing at Melanie or Beth, afraid of the justifiable amusement she’d likely find in their eyes now. Instead she cast a look in Ben’s direction, wondering what he thought of his aunt’s blatant machinations. He had to find them as disquieting as she did.

Oddly enough, she thought he looked surprisingly relaxed. Maybe he was confident of his own ability to resist whatever trap Destiny was setting. Or maybe he hadn’t figured out what she was up to. Doubtful, though, if he’d watched his brothers get snared one by one.

Kathleen took a closer look. He was every bit as handsome as she’d expected after seeing his brothers’ pictures in the gossip columns of the local papers. There was no mistaking the fact that he was an artist, though. There were paint daubs in a variety of colors on his old jeans, a streak of vermilion on his cheek. Kathleen couldn’t help feeling a faint flicker of admiration for a man who could be so totally unselfconscious showing up at his own dinner party at less than his best.

What a contrast that was to her own insecurities. She’d spent her entire life trying to put her best foot forward, trying to impress, trying to overcome an upbringing that had been financially privileged but beyond that had had very little to redeem it. She’d spent a lifetime hiding secrets and shame, acceding to her mother’s pleas not to rock the family boat. Art had brought beauty into her life, and she admired and respected those who could create it.

As she stepped into the dining room, her gaze shifted from Ben to the magnificent painting above the mantel. At the sight of it, she came to a sudden stop. All thoughts of Ben Carlton, Destiny’s scheming and her own past flew out of her head. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, my,” she whispered.

The artist had captured the fall scene with both a brilliant use of color and a delicate touch that made it seem almost dreamlike, the way it might look in the mind’s eye when remembered weeks or months later, too perfect to be real. There was a lone deer at the edge of a brook, traces of snow on the ground with leaves of gold, red and burnished bronze falling along with the last faint snowflakes. The deer was staring straight out of the painting, as if looking directly at the artist, but its keen eyes were serene and unafraid. Kathleen imagined it had been exactly like that when the artist had come upon the scene, then made himself a part of it in a way that protected and preserved the moment.

Destiny caught her rapt gaze. “One of Ben’s. He hated it when I insisted he hang it in here where his guests could enjoy it.”

“But it’s spectacular,” Kathleen said, dismayed that it might have been hidden away if not for Destiny’s insistence. Work this amazing did belong in a gallery. “I feel as if I looked out a window and saw exactly that scene.”

Destiny smiled, her expression smug. “I just knew you would react that way. Tell my nephew that, please. He might actually believe it if it comes from you. He dismisses whatever I say. He’s convinced I’m biased about his talent.”

Excitement rippled through Kathleen. Destiny hadn’t been exaggerating about her nephew’s extraordinary gift. “There are more like this?” she asked, knowing the answer but hardly daring to hope that this was the rule, rather than the exception.

“His studio is packed to the rafters,” Destiny revealed. “He’s given a few to family and friends when we’ve begged, but for the most part, this is something he does strictly for himself.”

“I could make him rich,” Kathleen said with certainty, eager to fight to do just that. She was well-known for overcoming objections, for persuading tightfisted people to part with their money, and difficult artists to agree to showings in her small but prestigious gallery. All of Destiny’s scheming meant nothing now. All that mattered was the art.

Destiny squeezed her hand. “Ben is rich. You’ll have to find some other lure, if you hope to do a showing.”

“Fame?” What painter didn’t secretly yearn to be this generation’s Renoir or Picasso? Disclaimers aside, surely Ben had an artist’s ego.

Destiny shook her head. “He thinks Richard and Mack have all the limelight that the Carlton family needs.”

Frustration burned inside Kathleen. What else could she come up with that might appeal to a reclusive artist who had no need for money or fame?

She drew her gaze from the incredible painting and turned to the woman who knew Ben best. “Any ideas?” she asked Destiny.

The older woman patted her hand and gave her a serene, knowing look. “I’m sure you’ll think of something if you put your mind to it.”

Even though she’d suspected the plot all along, even though Melanie and Beth had all but confirmed it, Kathleen was taken aback by the determined glint in Destiny’s eyes. In Destiny’s mind the art and the man were intertwined. Any desire for one was bound to tie Kathleen to the other. It was a diabolical scheme.

Kathleen looked from the painting to Ben Carlton. She would gladly sell her soul to the devil for a chance to represent such incredible art. But if she was understanding Destiny’s sly hint correctly, it wasn’t her soul she was expected to sell.

One more glance at Ben, one more little frisson of awareness and she couldn’t help thinking it might not be such a bad bargain.

* * *

Ben watched warily as his aunt guided Kathleen into the dining room. He saw the way the younger woman came to a sudden halt when she saw his painting, and despite his claim that he painted only for himself, his breath snagged in his throat as he tried to gauge her reaction. She seemed impressed, but without being able to hear what she said, he couldn’t be sure. It irked him that he cared.

“You’re amazingly talented,” Kathleen said the instant she’d taken her seat beside him.

Relief washed over him. Because that annoyed him, too, he merely shrugged. “Thanks. That’s Destiny’s favorite.”

“She has a good eye.”

“Have you ever seen her work?”

“A few pieces,” Kathleen said. “She won’t let me sell them for her, though.” She met his gaze. “Modesty must run in the family.”

“I’m not modest,” Ben assured her. “I’m just not interested in turning this into a career.”

“Why not?”

His gaze challenged her. “Why should I? I don’t need the money.”

“Critical acclaim?”

“Not interested.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically. “Or are you afraid your work won’t measure up?”

He frowned at that. “Measure up to what? Some other artist’s? Some artificial standard for technique or style or commercial success?”

“All of that,” she said at once.

“None of it matters to me.”

“Then why do you paint?”

“Because I enjoy it.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “And that’s enough?”

He grinned at her astonishment. “Isn’t there anything you do, Ms. Dugan, just for the fun of it?”

“Of course,” she said heatedly. “But you’re wasting your talent, hiding it away from others who could take pleasure in seeing it or owning it.”

He was astounded by the assessment. “You think I’m being selfish?”

“Absolutely.”

Ben looked into her flashing violet eyes, and for an instant he lost his train of thought, lost his desire to argue with her. If they’d been alone, he might have been tempted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot all about this silly debate over whether art was important if it wasn’t on display for the masses.

“What are you passionate about?” he asked instead, clearly startling her.

“Art,” she said at once.

“Nothing else?”

She flushed at the question. “Not really.”

“Too bad. Don’t you think that’s taking a rather limited view of the world?”

“That from a man who’s known far and wide as a recluse?” she retorted wryly.

Ben chuckled. “But a passionate recluse,” he told her. “I love nature. I care about my family. I feel strongly about what I paint.” He shot a look toward Richard. “I’m even starting to care just a little about politics.” He turned toward Mack. “Not so much about football, though.”

“Only because you could never catch a pass if your life had depended on it,” Mack retorted amiably. He grinned at Kathleen. “He was afraid of breaking his fingers and not being able to hold a paint brush again.”

“Then, even as a boy you loved painting?” Kathleen said. “It’s always mattered to you?”

“It’s what I enjoy doing,” Ben confirmed. “It’s not who I am.”

“No ambition at all?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. None. Richard and Mack have more than enough for one family.”

Kathleen set down her fork and regarded him with consternation. “How do you define yourself, if not as an artist?”

“A reclusive artist,” Ben corrected, quoting the usual media description. “Why do I need to pin a label on myself?”

She seemed taken aback by that. “I don’t suppose you do.”

“How do you define who you are?” he asked.

“I own an art gallery. A very prestigious art gallery, in fact,” she said with pride.

Ben studied her intently. He wondered if she had any idea how telling it was that she saw herself only in terms of what she did, not as a woman with any sort of hopes and dreams. A part of him wanted to unravel that particular puzzle and discover what had made her choose ambition over any sort of personal connection.

Because right here and now, surrounded by people absorbed in their own conversations, it was safe enough to ask, he gazed into her amazing eyes. “No man in your life?”

A shadow flitted across her face. “None.”

“Why is that?”

Eyes flashing, she met his gaze. “Is there a woman in yours?”

Ben laughed. “Touché.”

“Which isn’t an answer, is it?”

“No, there is no woman in my life,” he said, waiting for the twinge of guilt that usually accompanied that admission.

“Why not?” she asked, proving she was better at the game than he was.

“Because the only one who ever mattered died,” he said quietly.

Sympathy immediately filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I’m surprised Destiny didn’t fill you in,” he said, glancing in his aunt’s direction. Though Destiny was engaged in conversation with Richard, it was obvious she was keeping one ear attuned to what was going on between him and Kathleen. She gave him a quizzical look.

“Nothing,” Ben said for her benefit. He almost regretted letting the conversation veer away from the safe topic of art. But since Kathleen had sidestepped his question as neatly as he’d initially avoided hers, he went back to it. “Why is there no special man in your life?”

“I was married once. It didn’t work out.”

There was a story there. He could see it in her face, hear it in the sudden tension in her voice. “Was it so awful you decided never to try it again?”

“Worse,” she said succinctly. She met his gaze. “We were doing better when we were sticking to art.”

Ben laughed. “Yes, we were, weren’t we? I was just thinking the same thing, though I imagine there are those who think all the small talk is just avoidance.”

“Avoidance?”

“Two people dancing around what really matters.”

Kathleen flushed. “I’m perfectly willing to avoid delving into my personal life. How about you?”

“Suits me,” he said easily, though a part of him was filled with regret. “Want to debate about the talent of the Impressionists versus the Modernists?”

She frowned. “Not especially.”

“Know anything about politics?”

“Not much.”

“Environmental issues?”

“I think global warming is a real risk,” she said at once.

“Good for you. Anything else?”

She held up a forkful of turkey. “The food’s delicious.”

“I was thinking more in terms of another environmental issue,” he teased.

“Sorry. You’re fresh out of luck. I could argue the merits of free-range turkey over the frozen kind,” she suggested cheerfully. “Everyone says free-range is healthier, but they’re just as dead, so how healthy is that?”

Ben chuckled. “Now there’s a hot-button topic, if ever I heard one.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” she said. “I told you I have a one-track mind.”

“And it’s totally focused on art,” Ben said. “I think I get that.” He studied her thoughtfully. “This man you were married to, was he an artist?”

She stiffened visibly. “As a matter of fact, he was.”

Ben should have taken comfort in that. If an artist had hurt Kathleen so badly that she wasn’t the least bit interested in marriage, then he should be safe enough from all of Destiny’s clever machinations. She’d miscalculated this time. Oddly, though, he didn’t feel nearly as relieved as he should. In fact, he felt a powerful urge to go find this man who’d hurt Kathleen and wring his neck.

“People get over bad marriages and move on,” he told her quietly.

“Have you gotten over losing the woman you loved?”

“No, but it’s different.”

“Different how?”

Ben hesitated. They were about to enter into an area he never discussed, not with anyone. Somehow, though, he felt compelled to tell Kathleen the truth. “I blame myself for her death,” he said.

Kathleen looked momentarily startled by the admission. “Did you cause her death?”

He smiled sadly at the sudden hint of caution in her voice. “Not the way you mean, no, but I was responsible just the same.”

“How?”

“We argued. She was drunk and I let her leave. She ran her car into a tree and died.” He recited the bare facts without emotion, watching Kathleen’s face. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look shocked or horrified. Rather she looked indignant.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” she said fiercely. “She was an adult. She should have known better than to get behind the wheel when she was upset and drunk.”

“People who are drunk are not known for their logic. I could have stopped her. I should have,” Ben countered as he had to every other person who’d tried to let him off the hook.

“Really? How? By taking away the car keys?”

“That would have done it,” he said bleakly, thinking how simple it would have been to prevent the tragedy that had shaped the last three years of his adult life.

“Or she would have waited a bit, then found your keys and taken your car,” Kathleen countered.

“It might have slowed her down, though, given her time to think.”

“As you said yourself, it doesn’t sound to me as if she was thinking all that rationally.”

Ben sighed. No, Graciela hadn’t been thinking rationally, but neither had he. He’d known her state of mind was irrational that night, that she was feeling defensive and cornered at having been caught with her lover. He’d told her to get out anyway. Not only hadn’t he taken those car keys from her, he’d all but tossed her out the door and put her behind the wheel.

“It hardly matters now,” he said at last. “I can’t change that night.”

Kathleen looked directly into his eyes. “No,” she said softly. “You can’t. The only thing you can do—the thing you must do—is put it behind you.”

Ben wanted desperately to accept that, to let go of the past as his entire family had urged him to do, but blaming himself was too ingrained. Absolution from a woman he’d known a few hours counted for nothing.

He forced his gaze away from Kathleen and saw Destiny and his brothers watching him intently, as if they’d sensed or even heard what Ben and Kathleen had been discussing and were awaiting either an explosion or a sudden epiphany. He gave them neither.

Instead, he lifted his glass of water. “To good company and wonderful food. Thanks, Destiny.”

“To Destiny,” the others echoed.

Destiny beamed at him, evidently satisfied that things were working out exactly as she’d intended. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.”

Ben drank to her toast, but even as he wished everyone a wonderful Thanksgiving, he couldn’t help wondering when this dark, empty hole inside him would go away and he’d truly be able to count his blessings again. He gazed at Kathleen and thought he saw shadows in her eyes, as well, and guessed she was feeling much the same way.

He knew Destiny wanted something to come from this meeting today, but it wasn’t in the cards. Whatever the whole story, Kathleen Dugan’s soul was as shattered as his own.

3

Kathleen waited impatiently through several courses of excellent food. She nibbled on pecan pie, then lingered over two cups of rich, dark coffee, hoping for an invitation to Ben’s studio to go through the works that were stashed there. She desperately wanted to see for herself if the painting in the dining room was the exception or the rule.

Then again, it might be sheer torment, especially if each and every painting was extraordinary and Ben still flatly refused to allow her to show them.

When the meal finally ended and people started making their excuses and leaving, she lingered at the table with the family. She debated simply asking for a tour of the studio, but Ben’s forbidding expression stopped her. Not even Destiny seemed inclined to broach the very subject that she claimed had been her reason for asking Kathleen to dinner. It was as if she, too, had read her nephew’s mood and determined that he wouldn’t be receptive.

Kathleen was about to accept a momentary defeat and leave, when Melanie stepped in.

“Kathleen, surely you’re not going without looking at Ben’s paintings,” Melanie said, merriment sparkling in her eyes. “Isn’t that why you came tonight?”

Ben looked as if he’d like to strangle his sister-in-law. Kathleen took her cue from that.

“Perhaps another time,” she said before Ben could utter a word. She smiled at him. “I would love to come back sometime to see your studio, if you’ll let me.”

He regarded her with a faint frown. “Sure,” he said, too polite to refuse outright.

“I’ll call to set it up,” Kathleen promised. She had no intention of doing that. She had a hunch she needed the element of surprise on her side. Meantime, though, let him get complacent, thinking that he’d have fair warning.

“There’s no phone in the studio,” Melanie chimed in.

“And Ben never checks his messages,” Beth added.

“You should probably just pop in whenever the mood strikes,” Melanie suggested.

Kathleen grinned. Obviously those two were on the same wavelength. They’d found a way to encourage her and warn Ben at the same time. Very clever.

“Perhaps I will,” Kathleen said. She gave him a pointed look. “If Ben doesn’t return my calls.”

He rolled his eyes. “I return my calls.” He gave his sisters-in-law a hard look. “At least to anyone important.”

The two women laughed, not the least bit insulted by the innuendo. “I guess you put us in our place,” Melanie said, giving him a kiss. “Don’t be a stranger. I expect you to come to dinner soon.”

To Kathleen’s surprise, his expression softened and he rested a hand on Melanie’s huge belly. “I’d better hurry before this little one steals all your attention.”

“We’ll always have time for you,” Melanie told him. “And we’re counting on you to give the baby its first set of paints and plenty of free art lessons, just the way Destiny did for you. Mack’s going to teach the baby the finer points of football.”

“Even if it’s a girl?” Ben inquired skeptically.

“There will be no gender discrimination in this family,” Melanie retorted. “Right, Mack?”

“None,” Mack agreed at once. “And if it is a girl and she’s really, really good, I’ll make her the first woman in the National Football League. Who cares about a few cuts and bruises and broken bones?”

“Hold it,” Richard said, scowling at his brother. “Nobody gets to tackle any daughter of mine.”

Beth nudged Mack in the ribs. “You knew your brother would forbid it, didn’t you? Obviously you inherited Destiny’s sneakiness. You sound very broadminded since there’s absolutely no risk that you’ll ever have to pay up.”

“Hey, my offer was genuine,” Mack insisted, looking hurt that his wife would think otherwise. “Now let’s get out of here. We’ve got some kids at the hospital we want to see tonight. I promised them pie for dessert.”

Destiny stood up at once. “I have the pies all ready in the kitchen. I’ll get them.”

Melanie and Richard left as Mack, Beth and Destiny headed for the kitchen, leaving Kathleen alone with Ben.

“You have an amazing family,” she told him.

“They’re good people,” Ben agreed, then regarded her curiously. “What about your family? Were they together today?”

“Of course. It’s tradition.” She knew there was no mistaking the harsh edge in her voice, but she was unable to contain it.

“But you weren’t there,” he noted.

“I’d had enough of tradition,” she said succinctly. “I decided it was time to do my own thing.”

“Something tells me there’s a story there,” he said.

“Not a very interesting one,” she insisted, unwilling to air the Dugan family laundry to this man she barely knew.

He studied her so intently that she felt herself flush under his scrutiny.

“If you ever change your mind, I’m a good listener,” he said eventually.

Kathleen didn’t talk about that part of her past any more than she talked about her marriage. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with no intention of following up on it. Why reveal intimate secrets to a man she wanted to represent, not to date? Not that she’d ever shared any part of her family history with anyone. Keeping quiet had been ingrained in her from an early age.

“But you have no intention of talking to me about that or anything else personal, do you?” Ben guessed. “It’s all about the art with you.”

“Yes,” she said, seeing little point in denying it.

“Even if I were to tell you that I’d let you take a look around my studio, if you’d open up to me?”

She gave him a sharp look. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m not sure,” he responded slowly, looking faintly bewildered. “Maybe because I’m as fascinated with what you’re holding back as you are with the paintings I’m keeping from you.”

Kathleen was caught completely off guard by the admission. It was an opening, a chance to get what she wanted, but at what cost?

“I don’t think so,” she said at last.

“What are you afraid of?”

She wasn’t about to answer that. She couldn’t tell him that talking about the past would make her far too vulnerable, that it would create an illusion of intimacy that could be far too dangerous. There had been so many times in her life when she’d wanted to share all the secrets, to lean on someone stronger, but she’d kept her own counsel instead, because that was what Dugans did, damn them all.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said fiercely, desperately wishing it were true. She was terrified of shadows, of people who weren’t what they first seemed to be. Her faith in people, her trust had been shattered too many times to count, even by the mother and grandparents she was expected to respect and adore.

“Really?” Ben asked skeptically. “Nothing frightens you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she insisted, meeting his gaze, then faltering at the intensity in his blue eyes.

“Then I guess there’s no reason at all not to do this,” he said, cupping a hand behind her neck and covering her mouth with his own.

Fire shot through Kathleen’s veins as if she’d been touched by flame. Every sensible cell in her brain told her to pull away from the heat, but like the moth tempting fate, she moved into the kiss instead, then moaned when Ben was the one who withdrew.

Feeling dazed, she stared into his eyes, saw the confusion and the passion and wondered what the devil had just happened. If anyone else had hit on her so abruptly, with so little warning, she would have been shaking with anger now. To her shock, while she was indeed trembling, it was because that kiss had touched a part of her she’d thought was forever dead.

“Why?” she asked, unable to form a longer, more coherent question. Besides, why pretty much covered it.

“I’m asking myself the same thing,” Ben admitted. “Maybe I just wanted to challenge that confidence I heard in your voice.”

“Or maybe you wanted to prove something to yourself,” she responded irritably.

“Such as?”

“That Destiny had gotten it wrong this time.”

“My aunt had nothing to do with that kiss,” he said heatedly.

“Oh, really? Then you don’t care that it was exactly what she was hoping would happen between us?”

“The damn kiss had nothing to do with Destiny,” he said again, dragging his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, though. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Kathleen sighed. She agreed it had been a mistake, but she couldn’t seem to regret it the way she knew she should.

“Let’s just forget about it,” she suggested mildly. “People kiss all the time and it means nothing.” At least, other people did. It was a brand-new experience for her to be able to participate in a kiss without wildly overreacting, without a hint of panic clawing at her.

“Exactly,” Ben said, sounding relieved.

“I should go. Please tell Destiny that I had a wonderful time. I’m sure I’ll see her soon at the gallery.”

“Tomorrow morning would be my guess,” Ben said wryly.

Kathleen laughed despite herself. “Mine, too.”

“Will you tell her about the kiss?”

“Heavens, no. Will you?”

“Are you crazy? Not a chance.”

Kathleen looked into his eyes and made a swift decision. “I’m still coming back out here, you know. You haven’t scared me off.”

He gave her a vaguely chagrined look that told her she’d hit the mark. That kiss had been deliberate, after all, not the wicked impulse he’d wanted her to believe.

He shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

She laughed at having caught him. “I knew it. I knew that was what the kiss was about.”

He gave her a long, lingering look that made her toes curl.

“Not entirely,” he said, then grinned. “That should give you something to think about before you get into your car and head out this way again.”

It was a dare, no question about it. If only he’d known Kathleen better, he’d have realized that it was a point of honor with her never to resist a challenge. She’d survived her past, and when she’d come through it, she’d vowed never to let another soul intimidate her or get the upper hand. She didn’t intend to let Ben Carlton—despite his sexy looks, killer smile and devastating kisses—be the exception.

* * *

After that potent kiss, Ben was surprised and oddly disgruntled when Kathleen simply grabbed her coat and walked out without even waiting to say goodbye to Destiny or to Mack and Beth.

That was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He’d wanted to scare her off. He should have felt nothing but relief that his plan had worked and his aunt’s plotting hadn’t succeeded, but he felt a little miffed, instead. That wasn’t a good sign. All of the Carlton men loved a challenge.

Which probably meant that Destiny had advised Kathleen to go with her patented “always leave ’em wanting more” maxim. Alone with Destiny now, he gave his aunt a grim look.

“What are you up to?” he asked as she sat on the sofa, her feet tucked under her. With her soft cloud of brown hair and bright, clear brown eyes, she looked to be little more than a girl, though he knew perfectly well she was fifty-three.

Destiny sipped her brandy and regarded him without the slightest hint of guilt. “You’re too suspicious, Ben. Why would I be up to anything?”

“Because it’s what you do. You meddle. Ever since you decided Richard, Mack and I were old enough to settle down, you’ve systematically worked to make it happen.”

“Of course I have. I love you. What’s wrong with wanting to see you happy?”

“I am happy.”

“You’re alone. Ever since Graciela died, you’ve been terribly unhappy and guilt-ridden. It’s time to put that behind you, Ben. What happened was not your fault.”

“I’m not discussing Graciela,” he said tightly.

“That’s the problem,” Destiny said, undaunted for once by his refusal to talk about what had happened. “You’ve never talked about her, and I think perhaps it’s time you did. She wasn’t the paragon of virtue you’ve built her up to be, Ben. That much has to be clear, even to you.”

“Destiny, don’t go there,” Ben warned. He knew that his family had never held a high opinion of Graciela, but he’d refused to listen then, and he was equally adamant about not listening now, even with all of the facts still burning a graphic image in his head. He’d seen her with that polo player, dammit. He didn’t need to be reminded of what were only rumors and speculation to everyone else.

“I will go there,” Destiny said fiercely. “She was hardly a saint.”

“Dammit, Destiny—”

She cut him off with a look that made her disapproval of his language plain. “Leaving her was the right thing to do, Ben. You’re not responsible that she stormed off that night far too upset and drunk to be driving, and crashed her car into a tree. That was her doing, hers,” she repeated emphatically. “Not yours.”

Ben felt the words slamming into him, carrying him back to a place he didn’t want to go, to a night he would never forget.

The argument had been heated, far more volatile than any that had gone before. He’d caught Graciela cheating on him that afternoon, found her with a neighboring Brazilian polo player, but she’d tried to explain away what he’d seen as if there could possibly be an innocent explanation.

In the past he would have accepted the lies, because it was easier, but he’d reached the end of his rope. Loving her and forgiving her had worn him down, the cycle unending despite all the promises that she would change, that she would be faithful. He’d been foolish enough to believe them at first. He had loved her unconditionally and for a time had thought that accepting her flaws was a part of that.

Then he’d realized that what he felt wasn’t love, but an obsessive need not to lose someone important again. He’d seen the truth with blinding clarity that afternoon. He’d realized finally that he’d never really had her anyway.

On that fateful night he’d told her to get out and he’d meant it. Her hold on him had finally snapped.

“You’ll change your mind,” she’d said confidently, slurring her words, her expression smug, beautiful even in her drunken state.

“Not this time,” he’d told her coldly. “It’s over, Graciela. I’ve had enough.”

If that had been it, he could have moved on with his life, buried the repeated humiliations in the past and kept his heart hopeful that someone else would come along. But Graciela hadn’t even made it out to the main highway when she’d crashed. He’d heard that awful sound and run outside, only to find the mangled wreckage, her body broken and bloody and trapped inside as the first flames had licked toward the gasoline spilling across the drive.

Frantic, he’d tried to drag her to safety, knowing even as he struggled that it was too late, that nothing he could do would save her.

From that moment on, as the car exploded into a fiery inferno, Ben had shut down emotionally. It had stirred the images that had haunted him from childhood of his parents’ plane going down into the side of a mountain on a foggy night. He’d been so young back then that he’d barely understood what had happened. Everyone was careful to tiptoe around the details of that crash, so he’d filled in the blanks for himself, envisioning the kind of unbearable horrors that only a child with an active imagination could spin.

Now he shuddered and tried to push from his mind all of those memories, forever intertwined even though they’d occurred years apart.

“There’s a huge difference between being alone and being lonely,” he pointed out quietly. “No one should recognize that better than you. I don’t see you trying to snag a husband now that your nest is empty, Destiny.”

She frowned at the challenge. “It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to have companionship if the right man came along.”

“There,” he said triumphantly. “The right man, and nothing less.”

“Well, of course.” She gave him a sad smile. “I had that extraordinary experience once. I know what it’s like. I won’t accept anything less.”

“Neither will I.”

“But you won’t find it, if you don’t get out and look,” she scolded.

“So you’ve decided to bring the likely candidate to my doorstep?”

She shrugged. “Sue me.” Then she gave him a sly look. “It worked, didn’t it? You’re intrigued by Kathleen. I saw it in your eyes. You were watching her.”

“Maybe I’d just like to paint her,” he said, unwilling to admit to any more. Kathleen had been right, if Destiny knew about that kiss, he’d never hear the end of it. Who knew what she might do to capitalize on the impact of that kiss? Throwing them together at every opportunity would be the least of it.

Destiny chuckled. “You don’t do portraits. If you are genuinely interested in painting her, I find that very telling, don’t you?”

He refused to give her an inch. She would seize it and run with it for a mile. “Not particularly.”

“Look at your choice of subjects, Benjamin,” she said impatiently. “You’re more comfortable with nature than you are with people. Ever since you lost your parents, you don’t trust yourself to truly connect with anyone, much less to fall in love. Even Graciela was safe, because she was incapable of real love. You knew that from the start, and it suited you. You’re afraid we’ll all leave you.”

“I fell in love with Graciela,” he insisted.

“I don’t believe that for a minute, but let’s say it’s true. In the end, she only reinforced the pain,” Destiny said.

They’d been through this before. Ben had copped to it, so he saw no need to belabor the point. “Yes,” he said tersely.

“I haven’t left. Richard and Mack haven’t left. And you’re beginning to let yourself care for their wives, too. They’re here for the long haul. I’ll wager that you’ll lose your heart to the children when they come along, as well.”

“More than likely,” he agreed. Each time he felt Melanie’s baby kick, it set off an odd tug of longing inside him. He envied his brother the joy that awaited him, no question about it.

“Then why not open yourself to the possibility that there might be someone special out there for you as well?”

“I don’t need anyone,” he declared flatly.

“We all need someone. If I haven’t taught you that, then I’ve failed you miserably.”

“You don’t seem to need anyone.”

“But I have memories,” she said sadly. “Wonderful memories.”

“And those keep you warm at night?”

“They bring me peace,” she said. “Life is for living, darling. Never forget that.”

“Unless fate steps in,” he said. “Tricky thing, fate. You never quite know when it’s going to bite you in the butt.”

She sighed, her expression suddenly nostalgic. “No, you don’t, do you?”

Ben seized on the rare hint of melancholy in her voice. “You’re thinking about what you gave up to come and take care of us, aren’t you?” he said.

“You say that as if I have regrets. It wasn’t a sacrifice,” she insisted, just as she had on so many past occasions. “I did what I had to do. You boys have brought nothing but joy into my life.”

“But nothing to equal the man you left behind,” he pressed, wishing for once she would share that part of her life. If he had his hang-ups, they were nothing next to the secrets that Destiny clung to and kept hidden from them.

“Water under the bridge,” she insisted. “I have no regrets, and that’s the point. People move forward, take risks, let people in. Holing up and protecting your heart doesn’t keep you safe. It keeps you lonely.” She gave him one of her trademark penetrating, steady looks. “I could give you Kathleen’s phone number, if you like.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t had it tattooed to my hand while I slept.”

“Tattoos are too tacky,” she teased. “Besides, if I happen to be wrong just this once, I’d hate for you to have to explain it away the rest of your life.”

Ben grinned despite his exasperation. “I love you, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, her expression totally serene. “And in the end you’ll do what I expect. You always do.”

Sadly, she had that right. He could call Kathleen Dugan in the morning or he could hold out against the inevitable. In the end, though, he would see her again. Kiss her again.

He just wanted to make sure it was on his own terms.

4

By noon on Friday, Kathleen’s gallery was packed with customers who’d read a review of Boris’s work in the morning paper. As Destiny had expected, the critic had raved about his bold style and predicted great things. Collectors who’d left without buying or even expressing much interest at the opening were now eagerly lining up to pay the premium prices Kathleen had put on tags the instant she’d seen the review. At this rate, the show would be a sell-out before the end of the day.

Which meant she would have to find another artist for the schedule, she realized as an image of Ben’s painting slipped into her head. It would be awfully convenient if she could talk him into an immediate showing, but the likelihood of that was somewhere between slim and none. Winning him over was going to take time, patience and persistence, something she didn’t have at the moment.

She’d just written up her last sale of the morning and drawn a deep breath at the prospect of a midday lull, when Destiny breezed into the gallery, resplendent in a trim red coat with a fake-fur collar and a matching hat.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” she said, her gaze going to the walls, where red Sold stickers were on more than half of the price tags. Her expression immediately brightened. “Didn’t I tell you that a favorable review would turn the tide for Boris? The show is obviously a resounding success, after all.”

“It is,” Kathleen said happily. “Now if only I had something to replace it, once the buyers come back to claim their pieces. I’ve been able to hold most of them off for the next week, but after that these walls could be bare.” She gave Destiny a sly look. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help me out?”

“You saw for yourself how difficult Ben can be. I doubt you’ll be able to talk him into a show quickly enough,” Destiny said.

It was obvious to Kathleen that Destiny was deliberately misunderstanding her question. “I agree, but there is another Carlton artist who’s quite good.” She met Destiny’s gaze evenly. “And I think she owes me one, don’t you?”

Destiny returned her gaze without so much as a flicker of an eyelash. “Why on earth would I owe you anything, my dear?”

“You got me out to your nephew’s house under false pretenses, didn’t you?”

“False pretenses?” Destiny echoed blankly. “I don’t understand.”

The woman was good, no doubt about it. She almost sounded convincing, and she’d managed to look downright wounded.

“It was never about Ben’s art, was it?” Kathleen pressed. “You simply wanted me to meet him.”

“And now you have,” Destiny said brightly, as if attaching no significance to that meeting besides the obvious contact with an artist. “I’m sure in time you can persuade him to let you sell his paintings.”

“How do I know there are more paintings?” Kathleen asked. “I never got to see them.”

Destiny didn’t look a bit uncomfortable at that reminder. “Yes, well, the timing seemed to be a bit off, after all. Perhaps in a few days or a few weeks things will settle down a bit and you can go back out there. I’d recommend waiting until after the first of the year.”

“Nearly six weeks? My, my. Ben must be mad as hell at your scheming,” Kathleen guessed.

Destiny waved off the suggestion. “He’ll get over it. Just give him a little time.”

“Which I don’t have. I need something new and exciting to promote before Christmas.” She gave Destiny another piercing look. “A few pieces by Destiny Carlton would be a huge draw before the holidays. We could do a lovely reception.”

“Absolutely not,” Destiny said flatly. “I no longer show my work.”

“Just like someone else in the family,” Kathleen scoffed. “Why not? I know you’re good, Destiny. You’ve let me see your paintings.”

“Painting was something I did professionally years ago. Now I merely dabble.”

“The way Ben claims to dabble?”

“Ben’s a genius!” Destiny said fiercely. “Concentrate on winning him over, my dear, and forget about me.”

“Hard to do, when you’re here and he’s not.”

“He’ll come around in time. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll find something wonderful for the gallery for the holiday season,” Destiny said. “Even at the last second, there are dozens of local artists who’d be thrilled by an invitation to show their works here. Ask one of them. They’ll accept. You’re very persuasive, after all.”

Kathleen gave her a wry look. “I don’t seem to be doing so well with you. Maybe all Carltons are immune to my charms.”

“Maybe you simply need to formulate a new strategy and try a little harder,” Destiny advised. Her expression turned thoughtful. “My nephew has a sweet tooth. Since you bake all those delicious little pastries you serve at your events here, I’m sure you could use that skill to your advantage.”

Apparently satisfied that she’d planted her seed for the day, Destiny glanced at her watch and feigned shock. “Oh, dear, look at the time. I’m late. I just wanted to stop by and tell you how delighted I was to see that review and to tell you again that I’m so glad you were able to join us yesterday.”

“Thanks for including me,” Kathleen said, giving up the battle of wits with Destiny for now. A retreat seemed in order, since it seemed unlikely she’d be able to change Destiny’s mind.

“I really enjoyed meeting the rest of your family,” she added with total sincerity, “Beth and Melanie especially. Chatting with them was very enlightening.”

Destiny gave her a sharp look. “Don’t believe everything you’re told, Kathleen.”

Kathleen chuckled at her worried expression. “Yes, I can see why you wouldn’t want me taking their advice at face value.”

“What did those two tell you?” she asked, clearly ready to defend herself against all charges.

“Nothing I hadn’t already figured out for myself,” Kathleen said. “You’re a clever woman, Destiny. And a force to be reckoned with.”

Destiny squared her shoulders. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.

“I thought you might,” Kathleen said, her grin spreading. “I’m not entirely convinced they meant it that way, though.”

“Those two have nothing to complain about,” Destiny grumbled. “If it weren’t for me giving them and my nephews a timely nudge, their lives would be very different.”

“I’m sure they would all concede that,” Kathleen agreed. “But may I give you a piece of advice?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t count on getting your way where Ben and I are concerned.”

Destiny looked amused. “Because you’re made of tougher stuff?”

“Precisely.”

“Darling, that only means you’ll fall even faster and harder.”

Abandoning Kathleen to ponder that, she swept out of the gallery, leaving only the scent of her expensive perfume and her warning to linger in the air.

* * *

Ben slapped a heavy layer of dark, swirling paint on the canvas and regarded it bleakly. It pretty much mirrored his mood ever since Thanksgiving. Anyone looking at the painting would see nothing but turmoil and confusion. Some fool critic would probably look at it and see evidence of madness, and maybe he had gone a little mad from the moment he’d met Kathleen Dugan. Heaven knew, he couldn’t get her out of his head, which was something he hadn’t expected.

Nor had he been able to paint, not with the delicate touch required to translate nature into art. The fiasco in front of him had started out to be a painting of Canada geese heading north, but he’d messed it up so badly, he’d simply started layering coats of paint over the disaster, swirling together colors simply to rid himself of the restless desire to be doing something artistic even when his talent seemed to have deserted him. Who knew? Maybe he’d discover a whole new style. Looking at the canvas, though, it didn’t seem likely.

He was about to put a fresh canvas on the easel and start over when he heard the slam of a car door. He glanced outside and saw Mack climbing out of his SUV. He figured his big brother had probably come to gloat. One look at the painting in front of Ben and even without an ounce of artistic talent of his own, Mack would recognize that his brother was in a funk. To avoid that, Ben took the still-damp canvas and shoved it out of sight, then grabbed a blank one and sat it on the easel.

Mack came in seconds later, carrying a bag filled with sandwiches and bottles of soda. He glanced at the pristine canvas and raised an eyebrow.

“Artist’s block?” he inquired, barely containing a grin.

“Nope,” Ben lied. “Just thinking about a new painting. Haven’t even picked up my brush yet.”

Mack’s gaze immediately went to the palette of paints that had clearly been in use recently. “Oh?”

“I finished something earlier,” Ben claimed, knowing he was only digging the hole deeper. Mack might not know art, but he knew his brother. He was also pretty deft at recognizing an evasion when he heard one.

“Can I see?” he asked, his expression innocent. His eyes betrayed him, though. They were filled with amusement.

“No. I tossed it out,” Ben claimed. “It wasn’t coming together right.”

“Maybe you were too close to it. Could be you’d lost perspective. I could give you my opinion,” Mack offered cheerfully, clearly not buying the elaborate tale.

“I’d rather you just dole out one of those sandwiches and leave the art critiques to people who know what they’re talking about,” Ben groused.

“You mean people like Kathleen Dugan?” Mack asked, his expression perfectly bland as he handed over a roast beef sandwich. “She seems knowledgeable.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let her near my paintings,” Ben retorted.

“Because you don’t think she knows the business or because Destiny introduced you?” Mack asked, grinning broadly. “Can’t say I blame you for not trusting our aunt’s motivation in inviting Kathleen out here.”

“Yeah, well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” Ben said.

“That I would.”

“Why are you here, by the way?”

“Just thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing,” Mack claimed.

“You were here Thursday. It’s only Saturday. How much could happen in a couple of days?”

“I’d say that depends on how sneaky Destiny is being,” Mack said cheerfully. “Has Kathleen popped up yet?”

“No sign of her,” Ben admitted.

Mack studied him intently. “Are you relieved about that?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t sound especially happy. Seemed to me the two of you hit it off okay the other night. Maybe you were hoping she’d turn up to pester you by now.”

Ben gave him a sour look. “We were polite.”

“Then that kiss was just a polite gesture?” Mack asked.

Ben felt his face burn. “What kiss?” he asked with what he thought was a pretty good display of complete ignorance. Surely Mack was just guessing, adding up one man, one woman, a bit of chemistry and drawing his own conclusion about what had happened while he’d been out of the room. Maybe he was simply drawing on the knowledge of what he would have done if left alone with an attractive woman, pre-Beth, of course.

“The kiss I stumbled across when I came back into the dining room,” Mack replied, disproving Ben’s theory. “Looked pretty friendly to me.”

Faced with the truth, indignation seemed the only route left to him. “What the hell were you doing? Spying on us?” Ben demanded.

“Nope,” his brother said, clearly undaunted. “Destiny sent me in to ask how many pies you wanted her to leave for you, so she’d know how many to give Beth and me to take to the hospital.”

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Ben said defensively.

“Obviously.”

Ben scowled at his brother. “You didn’t race right back in the kitchen and report what you’d seen, did you?”

“Absolutely not,” Mack said, his indignation far more genuine than Ben’s. “I just told Destiny you said you’d had all the pie you needed and I should take the rest.”

“That’s why I couldn’t find so much as a crumb when I went looking for a late-night snack,” Ben grumbled.

Mack gave him an unrepentant smile. “I figured you owed me for not blabbing.”

Ben sighed. “You’re right. It’s a small enough price to pay for not getting Destiny’s hopes up. Who knows what she’d dream up, if she thought round one had gone her way.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re off the hook, little brother, not by any means. In fact, if I were you, I’d be looking over my shoulder from here on out. Something tells me you’ll be seeing Kathleen every time you turn around.”

Ben decided not to tell Mack that he was already seeing her everywhere. The blasted woman had crawled into his head and wouldn’t leave.

* * *

When it came to business, Kathleen wasn’t especially patient. The art world was competitive and she’d learned early to go after what she wanted before someone else snapped it up.

Though Destiny had suggested prudence where Ben was concerned, Kathleen decided not to take any chances. If, by some fluke, word about his talent leaked out, she could be competing with a crowd for the chance to mount his first show, maybe even to represent his work. The fact that he intended to play hard-to-get simply made the game more interesting.

She was back out in the rolling hills of Middleburg by 7:00 a.m. on the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Leaves on the trees were falling fast, but there were still plenty of hints of the gold, red and burnished-bronze colors of fall. On this surprisingly warm, sunny morning, horses had been turned out to pasture behind white fences. It was little wonder that Ben painted nature, when he lived in a setting this spectacular.

Kathleen was armed for the occasion. She had two extralarge lattes from Starbucks with her, along with cranberry scones she’d baked the night before when she couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about Ben and that stash of paintings his aunt had alluded to. She told herself those scones were not bribery, that she hadn’t taken Destiny’s advice about Ben’s sweet tooth to heart. Rather they were simply a peace offering for intruding on his Sunday morning.

She was waiting in her car with the motor running when Ben emerged from the house, wearing yet another pair of disreputable jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers. Unshaven, his hair shining but disheveled, he looked sexy as hell. All dressed up, he would be devastating.

But she wasn’t here because Ben sent her hormones into high gear. She was here because his talent gave her goose bumps. Sometimes it was hard to separate the two reactions, but in general she steered clear of artists in her personal life. Most were too self-absorbed, the emotional ride too bumpy. If that was her basic philosophy, avoiding the dark, brooding types was her hard-and-fast rule, learned by bitter experience. Ben Carlton was off-limits to her heart. Period.

Seemingly, though, her heart hadn’t quite gotten the message. It was doing little hops, skips and jumps at the sight of him.

She expected a quick dismissal and was prepared to argue. She wasn’t prepared for the hopeful gleam in his eye the instant he spotted the coffee.

“If one of those is for me, I will forgive you for showing up here uninvited,” he said, already reaching for a cup.

“If the coffee gets me inside your studio, what will these freshly baked scones get me?” She waved the bag under his nose.

“I’ll call off the guard dogs,” he said generously.

“There are no guard dogs,” she said.

“You didn’t see the sign posted at the gate?”

“I saw it. Your aunt told me it was for show.”

“No wonder people come parading in here whenever they feel like it,” he grumbled. “I’ll have to talk to her about giving away my security secrets.”

“Either that or go out and buy a rottweiler,” Kathleen suggested, taking the fact that he hadn’t actually sent her packing as an invitation to follow him into the studio, which had been converted from a barn.

The exterior of the old barn wasn’t much, just faded red paint on weathered boards, but inside was an artist’s paradise of natural light and space. The smell of oil paint and turpentine was faint, thanks to windows that had been left cracked open overnight. Ben moved methodically around the room to close them, then switched on a thermostat. Soon warm air was taking away the chill.

Kathleen had to stop herself from dumping everything in her hands and racing straight to the built-in racks that held literally hundreds of canvases. Instead, she bit back her impatience and set the bag of scones on the counter directly in front of Ben.

“All yours,” she told him.

Apparently he was the kind of man who believed in savoring pleasure. He opened the bag slowly, sniffed deeply, then sighed. “You actually baked these?”

“With my own two hands,” she confirmed.

“Is this something you do every Sunday, get a sudden urge to bake?”

“Actually this urge hit last night,” she told him.

“Let’s see if you’re any good at it,” he said as he retrieved one of the scones and broke off a bite. He put it in his mouth, then closed his eyes.

“Not bad,” he said eventually, then gave her a sly look. “This will get you five minutes to look around. Promise to leave the bagful and you can stay for ten.”

“There are a half-dozen scones in that bag. That ought to buy me a half hour at least,” she bargained.

Ben regarded her suspiciously. “Are you here just to satisfy your curiosity?”

Kathleen hesitated on her way to the first stack of paintings that had caught her eye. She had a feeling if she told him the truth, he’d hustle her out the door before she got her first glimpse of those tantalizingly close canvases. If she lied, though, it would destroy whatever fragile trust she was going to need to get him to agree to do a show.

“Nope,” she said at last. “Though what art dealer wouldn’t be curious about a treasure trove of paintings?”

“Then you still have some crazy idea about getting me to do a showing at your gallery?”

Kathleen shrugged. “Perhaps, if your work is actually any good.”

He frowned. “I don’t care if you think I’m better than Monet, I’m not doing a show. And your ten minutes is ticking by while we argue.”

She smiled at his fierce expression. “We’ll see.”

“It’s not going to happen,” he repeated. “So if that’s your only interest, you’re wasting your time.”

“Discovering an incredible talent is never a waste of my time.”

“In this case it is, at least if you expect to make money by showing or selling my paintings.”

She walked back to the counter where he sat, now crumbling one of those scones into crumbs. “Why are you so vehemently opposed to letting others see your work, Ben?”

“Because I paint for the joy it brings me, period.”

She gave him a penetrating look. “In other words, it’s too personal, too revealing.”

Though he quickly turned away, Kathleen saw the startled look in his eyes and knew she’d hit on the truth. Ben put too much of himself into his paintings, he exposed raw emotions he didn’t want anyone else to guess at.

“Bottom line, it’s not for sale,” he said gruffly. “And your time has just run out. I can live without the scones. Take the rest and go.”

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