Chapter 13      

Caroline eyed the newest painting in the Leggett Gallery’s collection. The famed Southwestern artist, Milo Francovich, had sent them a brilliant landscape of the Sonoran Desert. Unlike his other rugged landscapes, this one showcased a starry night during a full moon. The outlines of cacti against the dark flats looked more like dish antennas, Milo’s play on the encroachment of technology in nature. An environmental activist, Milo was concerned about the spread of satellite stations like the Goldstone Deep Space Communications Center in the Mojave and beyond.

“It’s pretty good,” she heard a male voice say behind her.

She jumped. The painting had so drawn her in she hadn’t heard anyone enter the gallery. Turning around, she gaped. “J.T. Merriam.”

He smiled immediately, the rugged planes of his face softening. “You recognized me. Hello, Caroline. I decided to swing by in person to introduce myself after your uncle told me you were open to speaking with me. I thought it might also help you forgive me for the horrible mud incident. Uncle Arthur told me you remembered. I’m really sorry about that.”

The shock of his presence jarred her as much as his good looks did, but there was no denying he was a feast for the eyes—even more so in person. With wheat-colored hair, mischievous green eyes, and a camel-colored wool coat trailing down to his knees, he did indeed look like a European model.

“You flew all the way from Rome?” she asked. “That’s quite—”

“Impetuous?” he asked, flashing her another smile.

Oh good heavens, he has a dimple. She was a sucker for men with dimples. “Well, yes.”

He took his gloves off and slid them into his pockets. “I had another meeting, one I didn’t feel I could do over the phone. It’s with Evan Michaels. I believe you two are acquainted. He tells me your sister, Moira, is working for him at Artemis.”

Now she was really off balance. “Yes, she is. I—”

“I’ve thrown you a little by showing up like this, haven’t I?” he asked. “Can we chat? I don’t see too many people milling around the gallery right now.”

“Wednesday is usually a slow day, so it’s just me here. Would you like to sit down? I can make you some coffee.”

“Coffee would be great. If someone comes in, we’ll just take a break and start up again once they leave. How much for Milo’s newest, by the way?”

He was already taking his coat and scarf off and hanging them over his arm. She noted the fine navy wool suit underneath, paired with the bright white shirt and gray tie. The man had an ideal body for fine clothes. Not super built, but lean and muscular.

“Let me stow your coat, J.T.,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

“I can hang up my coat and help make the coffee,” he replied. “I’d offer to take you to a cafe, but you’re the only one here.”

She wished it were otherwise. “I wouldn’t feel right closing the gallery.”

“Of course not,” he said, flashing her that winning smile. “You didn’t tell me how much the Milo was.”

“Oh, right,” she said, feeling the need to hold onto one of the gallery beams while talking to this man. “It’s twenty-three thousand.”

“Sold,” he said with a playful wink.

She was sure her mouth had opened a fraction. Sure, some people paid outright—a rare few—but usually they tried to negotiate with her on the price, which she had leeway on. “Are you serious?”

“Completely,” he said. “If you ask my siblings, they’d say I horse around, but never about art. I like the painting. The theme of it appeals to me. As someone who runs part of an oil company, I deal with my own struggles about how technology interrupts the flow of nature. Oil rigs don’t look too different than parabolic dish antennas at night, do they?”

Parabolic what? Who was this man?

He took her elbow. “Is your break room in the back?”

Was he leading her? She needed to get control of herself. “Yes. The coat room is there as well.”

She showed him where to hang his coat, but he didn’t follow her. Instead she looked over to see him touching the fabric of hers. “Ah…what are you doing?”

His smile lit his eyes. “You like cashmere. I like a woman who likes cashmere. I’m an unapologetic clothes whore after living in Rome for the last ten years.”

She felt a ping of attraction race down her spine. “Where did you live before Rome?”

“Stanford University,” he said, shutting the coat closet.

She wanted to kick herself. Hadn’t she read that in her research? “Of course.”

“I was finishing my MBA,” he continued. “Never room with your twin brother. Total mistake. Trev and I decided to stay close to home so we could see the rest of the family on the weekends.”

The affection in his voice was evident. She expected he was teasing about his twin. “There’s seven of you, if I remember,” she said.

“Yep, we’re a handful,” he said. “And you’ve got four siblings. Andy, Natalie, Matt, and Moira. You’re after Natalie.”

“Yes, but it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. How did you—”

“I have a good memory, especially since one of my singular worst punishments as a kid involved you.” His smile was almost lop-sided. “Technically I was trying to hit Trev with the mud, but no one seemed to care about that. I really want to apologize.”

It had happened at a big party at Uncle Arthur’s house. A couple of older boys had chased her and gotten her pretty dress all dirty. “There’s really no need to apologize.”

He held up his hands. “The fact that I’ve been called The Mud Slinger most of my life suggests otherwise.”

“Your family—”

“Everyone called me that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Uncle Arthur said my fame continued in your family too. What can I say? We were ten and mud was our superhero protoplasm. You were five, as I recall. You’re twenty-nine now, right?”

Nodding, she watched as he leaned against the counter in the break room and unbuttoned his jacket. 

“You had a yellow dress on with a white cowl and looked adorable. The adults—Uncle Arthur especially—busted our butts for getting you dirty. I made you cry.”

“You did,” she said, rolling her eyes in embarrassment. “I was a peaceful kid.”

“Andy and Natalie weren’t peaceful, as I recall. After your mom took you inside to clean you up, they jumped out of a tree and attacked Trev and me in retaliation. Your sister knocked my loose tooth out. I got gypped by the tooth fairy that night after being given my first spanking. Now I know it was my parents’ way of driving home a lesson about not throwing mud at people.”

She could feel her lips twitch. “It’s a good life lesson.”

Some of his sparkle died, and she wondered why. “Indeed. Where’s the coffee? I’ll make it while you keep watch to make sure no one sneaks into the gallery and steals a masterpiece.”

“That’s nice of you,” she said. “It’s in the cabinet. I hate those pod things.”

“Me too. Living in Rome has made me a coffee snob. Go on. I’ve got this.”

She left him in the break room, deciding a moment away from his engaging personality would be good for her. The man had charisma in spades. Taking some calming breaths, she walked over to the orange couch in the corner of the gallery and sat down. J.T. was acting like he knew her, which was weird. Other than the mud incident, she couldn’t remember him.

When he appeared with two coffee mugs and that engaging smile, she looked up. “Why don’t I remember seeing you in Dare Valley after the famed mud incident?”

He sat down beside her, close enough for his thigh to brush hers. “We stopped going there after that summer. I really missed it. Some of my happiest memories were our summers there. You know, your cousin Meredith and I used to pretend she was a reporter and I was someone famous. She’d interview me, scribbling down notes in her spiral notebook. Then there was Jill. She was a pistol.”

“Still is,” she said. “She just posed like a Picasso model in the town’s calendar to raise money for cancer.”

“Uncle Arthur told me. I need to get a copy.”

“You call him Uncle Arthur,” she observed.

He picked up his coffee. “Everyone in the Merriam family calls him that. Even my parents and grandparents. He’s been an honorary member of the family ever since he and  my great-great grandfather, Emmits, became friends. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when they talked about their visions.”

There was something wistful in his voice. “You’re running your family company’s oil and gas operations in Africa and the Middle East,” Caroline said. “That sounds pretty visionary to me, especially in these times.”

His shoulder lifted. “It’s not as exciting as it sounds. For a while now, it’s been pretty dangerous and really depressing. There are a lot of good people getting hurt by politics, and it’s a struggle not to feel like shit about it.”

She paused in sipping her coffee and glanced sharply at him.

“Don’t mind me,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “Trev says I’m certifiable right now. Which is a great segue to why I’m here. I’d like to fly you to Rome to look at part of the family’s art collection.”

Taking a fortifying sip of her coffee, she leaned back against the couch. “Fly me to Rome? Just like that?”

“Well, it’s a great city, and the best place to start. We have more art in Napa, but my parents live there. I’d rather not bring you around the family just yet.”

She wondered why, but refrained from asking. “Uncle Arthur said you wanted to bring the collection back to Dare Valley. What made you… Well, why did you suddenly decide to do this?”

“When Evan announced Artemis, it kinda got me thinking,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Our family has been receiving pressure for years—and I mean decades—to give the bulk of our art collection to a museum. You wouldn’t believe the lengths to which some of the museum curators have gone. One of them even propositioned my mom. My dad was outraged.”

“As he should have been,” she said. “I’ve been surprised by some of the things I’ve seen in the art world.”

“Yeah, it’s a small community. Plenty of petty jealousies, artistic rivalries, feuds.” His mouth pursed. “Then there are the sexual interludes. So many people have slept with the same people. Good thing I realized that after my one moronic dive into that pond.”

She had to bite her lip to keep her mouth from dropping open. “Ah…well, not everyone acts like that.”

His mouth tipped up to the side. “Uncle Arthur said you were smarter than that. Although, trust me, I learned my lesson. Trev is on call to warn me away from any art or painter temptresses.”

His jaw was tight, and she suspected there was some personal edge to all this, something she wasn’t privy to. “Anything I need to know?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I just need an unbiased expert to peruse our collection and work with me on arranging it by theme. Uncle Arthur thought you’d be the right person for the job.”

“But I have a job,” she said, gesturing to the gallery.

“I know that. I was going to suggest a long weekend in Rome to kick things off. You can decide if you want to continue. But I’ll warn you. Once you see what I have in Rome, you’re not going to be able to stop there. You’ll want to come with me to my parents’ house in Napa.”

A long weekend? Why did she think he was underestimating things? “How many paintings do you have in Rome?”

“With the acquisition of the Milo today, the count is three hundred and thirty-three.”

She gasped. “You’re kidding! You have to be kidding.” 

“We have one hundred and eighty-two painting in Napa,” he said. “I got the lion’s share as I’m the only one of my siblings who cares about art.”

“How is that possible?”

“They’re cretins,” he joked, his dimple winking. “All six of them.”

She doubted that, but she was still in shock. “Let me get this straight. You have over five hundred paintings in your collection.”

“Well, we have close to seven hundred, but my dad’s sister is a bitch. She stole some art from the house in the Hamptons the day my grandma died. We’re leaving that alone for now, although I have some ideas on how to force her hand.”

Creating a Merriam Art Museum might change her mind, especially if the press heard there was more to the collection. “Long weekends? Are you crazy?”

“I told you Trev thinks I’m certifiable,” he said, holding his hands out in a charming way. “Don’t worry. Everything has already been catalogued. The provenance is in place. I discovered one painting had been stolen by the Nazis and later sold to Emmits with fake provenance. My lawyer found the family and returned the painting.”

She sat back, stunned. “You tracked down a family the Nazis had stolen art from and gave it back? Who are you?”

“I take stolen art very seriously,” he said with a glower. “Despite my laid-back attitude about a lot of things, I have a code, and I don’t break it.”

Laid back? He was putting her on, right? “A long weekend isn’t going to cut it.”

“Of course it will,” he said. “We’ll work long hours, but you’ll see everything. Trust me, it will help you form your initial impressions. I can give you my thoughts, and we can go from there.”

“How long have you been working on this idea?” she asked, noting that his wheat-colored hair curled at the ends.

“Since last May,” he responded with a wink. “I had some time on my hands. Trust me, it’s going to be great. I’ll have my private jet bring you over. You can stay at a hotel or with me. I have a four-bedroom flat near the Piazza di Spagna. You’ll love it. We’ll look at art. Drink wine. Eat awesome food. And I can tell you more about the museum.”

Private plane? Piazza di Spagna? She shook her head. “I’ll need to think about it.”

He checked his watch. “Of course. Look, I hate to dash off, but I need to meet with Evan. I’m leaving for Rome shortly afterward, but here’s my number. You can call me when you’ve thought it through.”

She took the card he handed her. His name and mobile number were engraved in gold. “This is pretty grand.”

“I’m old-fashioned,” he said, standing up. “I like personal calling cards. I told you. Rome changed me.”

Coming to her feet, she found she was suddenly a little unsteady on her three-inch black boots. 

His hand cupped her arm. “Easy.”

She firmed her shoulders. “I’m fine. J.T., when did you fly into Denver?”

“This morning,” he said with a smile before walking toward the break room, likely for his coat, she realized.

He was shrugging into it when he returned.

“You flew in from Rome for a few hours?” she asked.

“Welcome to my world, Caroline.”