First Blue painted a series of gypsy caravans, some tucked into secret coves, others traveling down country roads toward distant arrays of minarets and gilded onion domes. Then she moved on to bird’s-eye views of magical villages with crooked streets, prancing white horses, and an occasional fairy perched on a chimney pot. She painted like a madwoman, barely finishing one canvas before she began another. She stopped sleeping, barely ate. As she completed each piece, she tucked it away.
“You’re hiding your light under a bushel just like Riley was doing,” Nita declared to Blue over the noise in the Barn Grill on a Sunday morning in mid-September two months after Dean had gone back to Chicago. “Until you’ve got the courage to let people see your work, you’ve lost my respect.”
“That’ll keep me up at night,” Blue retorted. “And don’t act like no one’s seen them. I know you sent Dean copies of those digital photos you made me take.”
“I still can’t believe him and those parents of his sold their private story to that filthy tabloid. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw that headline. ‘Football Star Is Jack Patriot’s Love Child.’ They should have had more dignity.”
“That filthy tabloid was the highest bidder,” Blue pointed out. “And you’ve subscribed to it for years.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Nita sniffed.
The print story had broken the second week of August with Dean, Jack, and April’s sole television interview not long after. April told Blue that Dean had decided to give up his secrets the day of Nita’s birthday party. Jack had gotten so choked up he’d barely been able to talk. They’d decided to sell the story to the highest bidder, using the money they received to set up a family foundation supporting organizations that helped hard-to-place children find permanent families. Riley alone had protested. She’d wanted to give the money to puppies.
Blue talked to all of them on the phone—everyone except Dean. April didn’t volunteer much information about him, and Blue couldn’t ask.
Nita tugged on a ruby earring. “The whole world’s gone crazy, you ask me. There were four RVs hogging up the parking spaces in front of that new bookstore yesterday. Next thing you know, we’ll have a McDonald’s on every corner. And why you told the Garrison Women’s Club they could meet at my house from now on, I’ll never know.”
“And I’ll never know why you and that awful Gladys Prader—a woman you used to hate—have struck up a friendship. Although some might call it a coven.”
Nita sucked on her teeth so hard Blue was afraid she’d swallow an incisor.
Tim Taylor popped up next to them. “The game’s starting. Let’s see if the Stars can finally pull one out.” He pointed toward the big-screen TV that the Barn Grill had added so everyone could follow the Stars on Sunday afternoons. “This time try to stop closing your eyes every time Dean takes the snap, Blue. You look like a sissy.”
“You mind your own business,” Nita shot back.
Blue sighed and dropped her head to Nita’s shoulder. She stayed like that for a while. Finally, she said, so only Nita could hear, “I can’t do this much longer.”
Nita patted her hand, brushed her cheek with a gnarled knuckle, then poked her in the ribs. “Sit up straight or you’ll get a hump.”
By October, Dean’s game had improved, but not his mood. The snippets of information he wormed out of Nita weren’t reassuring. Blue was still in Garrison, but no one knew for how long, and those brilliant, magical paintings of gypsy caravans and faraway places he’d seen in the photos Nita forwarded weren’t encouraging. The initial firestorm of publicity over Jack and Dean’s relationship had begun to die down. At least one member of his family attended every game, depending on their work and school schedules. Still, as much as he loved them all, the hole inside him kept growing larger. Every day Blue seemed to be slipping further away from him. A dozen times he picked up the phone to call her, but he always set it back down. Blue had his number, and she was the one with something to prove, not him. She had to do this on her own.
And then, on a rainy Monday morning at the end of October, he opened the Chicago Sun-Times, and all the blood drained from his head. A big color photograph showed him at Waterworks, his favorite dance club, with a model he’d dated last year. He had a beer bottle in one hand and the other wrapped tightly around her waist as they engaged in an intimate kiss.
Dean Robillard and his former girlfriend, model Ally Tree-bow, got cozy last week at Waterworks. Now that they’re back together, is the Stars’ quarterback finally ready to give up his title as Chicago’s most eligible bachelor?
Dean heard a roaring in his ears. This was exactly what Blue had been waiting for. He knocked over his morning coffee grabbing for the phone, all his resolutions to give her space forgotten. But Blue didn’t answer. He started leaving messages. Still no response. He called Nita. She subscribed to every Chicago paper, so he knew Blue would see the photo, but Nita didn’t answer, either. He was due at Stars headquarters in an hour for the required Monday-morning meeting. He jumped in his car and drove to O’Hare instead. On the way, he finally faced the truth about himself.
Blue wasn’t the only screwed-up person in this partnership. While she used her pugnacity to keep people at a distance, he used his amiability just as effectively. He’d said he didn’t trust her, but now that felt like a cop-out. He might be fearless on the football field, but he was a coward in real life. He always held back, so afraid of coming out a loser that he voluntarily put himself on the bench instead of playing the game to the end. He should have brought her to Chicago. Better to risk having it all fall apart than to cop out the way he had. It was long past time he grew up.
An ice storm in Tennessee canceled his original flight, and by the time he reached Nashville, it was late afternoon, cold and drizzly. He rented a car and took off for Garrison. On the way, he saw fallen tree limbs and utility trucks repairing downed power lines. Finally, he turned in to the muddy lane that led to the farm. Despite the bare trees, wet brown pastures, and his churning stomach, he felt as if he’d come home. When he saw the light shining through the living room windows, he drew his first clean breath since he’d opened the morning paper.
He left the car near the barn and made a dash through the rain for the side door. It was locked, and he had to let himself in with his key. “Blue?” He kicked off his wet shoes but kept his coat on as he moved into the chilly house.
No dirty dishes sat next to the sink, no cracker boxes lay open on the countertops. Everything was spotless. A chill trickled through him. The house felt hollow.
“Blue!” He headed toward the living room, but the light he’d seen through the windows came from a lamp plugged into a timer. “Blue!” He took the stairs two at a time, but even before he reached his bedroom, he knew what he’d see.
She was gone. Her clothes were missing from his closet. The dresser drawers where she’d stored her underwear and T-shirts were empty. A cake of soap, still in its wrapper, sat on the shelf in his unused shower, and the only toiletries in the medicine chest belonged to him. His legs felt heavy as he entered Jack’s old bedroom. Nita had mentioned that Blue worked in here to take advantage of the light coming through the corner windows, but not even a tube of paint remained.
He made his way back downstairs. In her haste to leave, she’d forgotten her sweatshirt, and she’d left a book in the living room, but even the cherry yogurt she always kept in the refrigerator had vanished. He ended up in the living room, staring at the flickering light of the television but seeing nothing. He’d thrown the dice and lost.
His cell rang. He hadn’t gotten around to taking off his coat, and he pulled the phone from his pocket. It was April, calling to check up on him, and as he heard the concern in her voice, he dropped his forehead into his hand.
“She’s not here, Mom,” he said unsteadily. “She ran.”
Eventually, he fell asleep on the couch with QVC droning in the background. He awakened late the next morning with a stiff neck and an acid stomach. The house was still cold, and rain pummeled the roof. He stumbled into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. It burned all the way down.
The rest of his life stretched in front of him. He dreaded the drive back to the airport. All those miles with nothing to do but count the missteps he’d made. The Stars were playing the Steelers on Sunday. He had film to study, a strategy to plan, and he didn’t care about any of it.
He forced himself into the shower, but he couldn’t summon the will to shave. His empty eyes stared back at him from the mirror. This summer he’d found his family, but now he’d lost his soul mate. He wrapped the towel around his waist and drifted blindly into the bedroom.
Blue sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed.
He faltered.
“Hey, you,” she said softly.
His knees went weak. It had been so long since he’d seen her that he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. A few curls from that short, inky fracas brushed the corners of her grapesicle eyes. She wore a petite green wrap sweater and neatly fitted jeans that hugged her small hips. A pair of darker green ballet flats lay on the rug next to the bed. Instead of looking devastated, she seemed to be drinking him in, and her smile was almost shy. It hit him like a thunderbolt. After all the agony he’d put himself through, she hadn’t seen the photo! Maybe the ice storm had screwed up paper delivery. But then, why had she moved out?
“Did you let me know you were coming?” she said.
“I—uh—left a couple of messages.” About a dozen.
“I forgot my cell.” She regarded him searchingly.
He wanted to kiss her until neither of them could breathe, but he couldn’t do that. Not yet. Maybe never. “Where’s—where’s your stuff?”
She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
“Where are your clothes? Your paints?” He raised his voice without meaning to. “Where’s that lotion you use? Your damn yogurt? Where is it?”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “All over the place.”
“No, it’s not!”
She unfolded her legs, the motion awkward. “I’ve been painting at the cottage. I’m working with oils now instead of acrylics. If I paint over there, I don’t have to sleep with the fumes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Oh, God, he was screaming. He tried to calm himself down. “There’s no food here!”
“I eat at the cottage so I don’t have to run back every time I get hungry.”
He pulled in some air to get his adrenaline rush under control. “What about your clothes? They’re missing.”
“No, they’re not,” she replied, still looking confused. “I moved my stuff into Riley’s room. I hated sleeping in here without you. Go ahead and laugh.”
He eased his hands off his hips. “Trust me. I don’t have a laugh anywhere in me right now.” He needed to be sure. “Have you given up bathing, too? You’re not using my shower.”
She dropped her legs over the edge of the bed, her brow knitting. “The other bathroom’s closer. Are you feeling all right? You’re starting to scare me.”
It hadn’t occurred to him to check the other bathrooms or walk over to the cottage. He’d let himself see only what he’d expected to find, a woman he couldn’t depend on. But he’d been the undependable one, not willing to put his heart on the line. He tried to regroup. “Where have you been?”
“I drove to Atlanta. Nita kept nagging me about my paintings, and there’s this incredible dealer there who—” She stopped herself. “I’ll tell you later. Did they bench you? Is that what this is about?” Her indignation flared. “How could they? So what if you weren’t on your game in September? You’ve played brilliantly ever since.”
“They didn’t bench me.” He pushed his hand through his damp hair. The bedroom was cold as hell, and he had goose bumps everywhere, and nothing was settled. “I need to tell you about something, and you have to promise to hear me out before you get crazy.”
She gasped. “Oh, God, you have a brain tumor! All this time, while I’ve been holed up here—”
“I don’t have a brain tumor!” He plunged in. “There was a picture of me in yesterday’s paper. Taken at a benefit for cancer research I went to last week.”
She nodded. “Nita showed it to me when I stopped to check on her.”
“You’ve already seen it?”
“Yes.” Blue continued looking at him as if he were demented.
He moved closer. “You saw the picture in yesterday’s Sun-Times? The one where I’m kissing another woman?”
Her expression finally clouded. “Who was that anyway? I should kick her ass.”
Maybe he’d suffered one too many concussions because he got light-headed and had to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“Nita was in a snit, believe me.” Blue waved her hand and began to pace. “Despite the fact that she’s started to like you, she still believes all men are scum.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not all men, but don’t get me started on Monty the Loser. Do you know he had the nerve to call me and—”
“I don’t care about Monty!” He jumped back up. “I want to tell you about that picture!”
She looked vaguely annoyed. “Go ahead then.”
He did not understand this. Wasn’t Blue the woman who woke up every morning afraid of being abandoned? He tightened the knot on his towel, which was in danger of falling off. “I was standing at the bar when she came up to me. We’d dated a couple of times last year, but it never amounted to anything. She was drunk and she threw herself at me. Literally. I grabbed her so she didn’t fall.”
“You should have let her. People don’t have enough respect for your personal boundaries.”
Now her attitude was starting to piss him off. “I let her kiss me. I didn’t push her away.”
“I understand. You didn’t want to embarrass her. There were people standing all around, and—”
“Exactly. Her friends, my friends, a bunch of strangers, and that damned photographer. But as soon as I got my lips unlocked, I pulled her aside, and we had a private chat about our lack of a relationship. I didn’t think any more about it until I saw the paper yesterday. I tried to call you, but…”
She regarded him searchingly, and then her expression went stony. “You didn’t finally fly down here because you thought I’d run away over something like that, did you?”
“I was kissing another woman!”
“You thought I’d run! You did! Over that stupid picture. After all I’ve gone through to prove myself!” Her eyes flashed grape-flavored thunderbolts. “You’re an idiot!” She stormed out of the bedroom.
He couldn’t believe this. If he’d seen a photo of Blue kissing another man, he’d have torn the world apart. He hurried into the hall after her, the clammy towel getting colder by the minute. “Are you telling me you weren’t worried—not for a minute—that I might be screwing around on you?”
“No!” She started down the steps, and then spun around. “Do you really expect me to fall apart every time another woman throws herself at you? Because, if that’s so, I’ll be a nervous wreck before the honeymoon’s over. Although, if they do it in front of me…”
He went still. “Did you just propose to me?”
She bristled. “Do you have a problem with that?”
The scoreboard lit up, and he gave the world a high five. “God, I love you.”
“I’m not impressed.” She stomped the rest of the way down the steps. “Why is it that I have faith in you, but—after everything I’ve gone through—changing my whole life for you!—you still don’t have any faith in me?”
Prudence suggested this wasn’t the best time to bring up her past history. Besides, she had a point. A really good point, and he’d have to tell her what he’d learned about himself, although not right now. He went after her. “Because…I’m an insecure jerk too good-looking for my own good?”
“Bingo.” She stopped next to the coatrack. “I’ve given you way too much power in this relationship. Obviously, it’s time for me to take over.”
“Could you start off by getting naked?” Her eyebrows shot together. She wasn’t letting him off that easily, and he quickly retrenched. “Where did those clothes come from?”
“April orders everything for me. She knows I can’t be bothered.” Her curls bobbed. “And I’m too mad—too furious!—to get naked.”
“I understand. You have to put up with a lot from me.” A sense of absolute peace stole through him, disturbed only by the powerful erection that even his chilly towel hadn’t been able to discourage. “Tell me about Atlanta, sweetheart.”
A wise move on his part because she temporarily forgot he was an insecure, love-struck idiot. “Oh, Dean, it was wonderful. He’s the most prestigious dealer in the South. Nita wouldn’t shut up about the paintings, and she made me so mad that I finally sent him photographs. He called me the next day and demanded to see everything.”
“And you couldn’t pick up a phone and clue me in about something that important?”
“You have enough to think about right now. Honestly, Dean, if your offensive line doesn’t give you better protection, I—”
“Blue…” He reached the end of his patience.
“Anyway, he loved everything!” she said. “He’s giving me my own show. And you wouldn’t believe the prices he’s going to charge.”
Enough was enough. “We’ll work the wedding around it.” He closed the distance between them in two strides, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her exactly as he’d been dreaming about doing for months. She kissed him back, too. Damn right she did. “There is definitely going to be a wedding, Blue. The minute the season is over.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it?”
She smiled and cupped his jaw. “You’re a steadfast man, Dean Robillard. The more I painted, the more that became clear to me. And you know what became just as clear?” She ran her finger over his bottom lip. “I’m a steadfast woman. Loyal to a fault, and as tough as they come.” He pulled her against him. She rested her cheek against his chest. “You told me I needed to grow roots, and you were right. It was so easy to be happy when we were together. I needed to make it difficult. Knowing I have a permanent family helped a lot. It’s…made me stop being so afraid.”
“I’m glad. April is—”
“Oh, not April.” She tilted her face up to him. “April is one of my dearest friends, but, let’s face it, you’ll always come first with her.” Blue looked faintly apologetic. “The truth is, Nita loves me for better or for worse. And, trust me, she’s not going anywhere until somebody drives a stake through her heart.” Her smile grew a question mark. “Would it be okay if we asked April to plan the wedding? I’ll just muck it up, and frankly, I’d rather paint.”
“You don’t want to plan your own wedding?”
“Not too much. Weddings don’t interest me.” She gazed up at him with the most tender, dreamy eyes he’d ever imagined. “On the other hand, being married to the man I love…That interests me very much.”
He kissed her more fiercely until she gasped and pushed him away. “I can’t stand it any longer. Wait right here.”
She ran upstairs, and despite the fact that he was approaching hypothermia, he was more than willing to wait her out. He moved around to get warm and saw that more magical creatures had appeared on his dining room walls, including a benevolent-looking dragon. He also noticed that the caravan door was painted wide open and two tiny figures stood silhouetted in the window.
Her footsteps tapped behind him. He turned. If he discounted her black biker boots, she wore only a lacy pink bra and tiny matching panties. His Blue in pink. He could hardly take it in. She’d found the courage to wear soft clothes and paint soft pictures.
“Race you!” With a teasing smile, she shot ahead of him into the kitchen and out the side door, her small buttocks peeping from beneath her panties like halved peaches. He lost a few seconds enjoying the view but still managed to catch up with her halfway across the yard. The rain had turned to sleet again, and he’d lost his towel, which left him buck naked, barefoot, and freezing to death. She moved ahead again so she reached the caravan first. She laughed, as mischievous as any of the imps she painted. Icy drops sparkled in her hair, and the shadows of her nipples showed through the wet, silky cups of her bra. He followed her inside.
The caravan was frigid. She kicked off her biker boots. He peeled off her damp pink panties. Pulling her beneath him, they fell into the cold bunk. He drew up the comforter so that it covered their wet, shivering bodies, then tugged it over their heads. In their dark cave, they warmed each other with their hands, their kisses, their bodies, and the pledges they needed to make.
The sleet pounded on the curved roof, tapped at the small windows, rapped at the blue door. They lay together, perfectly sheltered.