Brian couldn’t believe his luck. After spending the better part of the morning in his car watching Jill’s bakery, knowing Harper was right on the other side of the door, he’d been about to give up. But Lady Luck was smiling on him today, and he planned to take advantage of this opportunity. Harper Westbrook would think this was a chance meeting, instead of a carefully orchestrated encounter.
Harper sat at the small booth by the window of Gracie’s Grounds, the hot pink highlights in her long blond curls drawing his eyes like a magnet. He didn’t want to look away, even for a second, afraid she’d disappear like a puff of smoke on the wind. Picking up their order, he sauntered back to the booth, and slid onto the bench across from her, passing her the large paper cup.
He’d been surprised when she’d ordered a black coffee, and not one of those frilly, frou-frou drinks. A woman after his own heart because that was the only way to drink good coffee. Of course, there were days he swore he had black coffee running through his veins instead of blood. With his job, he practically inhaled the stuff.
“Thanks.” She took the large paper cup he handed her, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled.
“You’re welcome. I have a confession.” Brian shrugged and tried to look innocent. “I noticed you coming out of How Sweet It Is right before you—”
“Practically knocked you off your feet?” Harper’s quick grin that accompanied her words took any sting out of the remembered incident. Good thing she didn’t know he’d deliberately stepped into her path, because he had the feeling she wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to be lied to or manipulated. Wasn’t sure how he knew that, but his instincts were rarely wrong.
“I’m Brian, by the way.” He reached a hand across the table, waiting to see if she’d take it.
“Harper.” Her fingers wrapped around his and he noted how soft and silky her hands felt. Which kind of surprised him, since he knew she worked with paints and chemicals. He couldn’t help wondering if the rest of her felt as soft.
“I’ve got another confession to make, Harper.” He noted the slight widening of her eyes, along with the almost imperceptible drawing back, her shoulders stiffening. “No, it’s nothing bad, I promise.”
“Those words usually lead to something I’m not going to like.” Harper took a sip of her coffee and wrapped her hands around the cup. “Go ahead, might as well get it over with.”
“I have seen you before.” Brian held up a hand when she started to speak. “It was only across a room. At Liam and Ruby’s party.”
“I don’t remember seeing you there.”
“Probably because I spent most of the time propping up the wall, nursing a beer. I wouldn’t have been there at all, but Ms. Patti insisted I come. Nobody says no to Ms. Patti. I even made a special trip to Shiloh Springs so I could attend that party.”
“You’re a friend of the Boudreaus?”
Brian’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Depends on your definition of friend. I’m sure most of the brothers would use a different term. Me and the boys have butted heads a few times over the last year, but I’ve got a soft spot for Ms. Patti and Douglas.”
Harper nodded. “They are amazing people. If you are counted by them as a friend, I’m sure you a nice guy.”
Brian almost choked on the coffee he’d just drank at her remark. Nobody in their right mind would call him a nice guy. There were a host of names he’d been called over the years, but nice had never made the list.
“So, tell me, how do you know Ms. Patti and Douglas, since you don’t live in Shiloh Springs?”
“I used to, a long time ago. I was assigned to live at the Big House for a few months. Things didn’t work out, and I left.”
Harper straightened in the booth, her body practically vibrating. What had he said to get that kind of reaction from her?
“Wait a second, you’re one of Ms. Patti’s Lost Boys? I can’t believe it.”
“Lost Boys?”
She nodded vigorously. “The boys who came to live at the ranch but didn’t stay. I know there weren’t a lot who didn’t end up staying and being adopted by the Boudreaus. Jill told me about a couple of them. Said Ms. Patti gets all melancholy when she talks about the kids she couldn’t help. The family started calling them her Lost Boys, and the name stuck.”
“I was hardly lost. Simply got pulled back into the system until I aged out. Then went into the military.” It wasn’t an outright lie; he simply didn’t want to ruin their morning with depressing thoughts.
Harper reached across the tabletop and grasped his hand, squeezing gently. “To Ms. Patti, you were lost to her. I’ve heard her talking with some of the fiancées, and I know she never gave up on any of you. She gets this look on her face when she’s talking about y’all. I don’t know her well, though I count her a friend. But even I can tell there’s something there when she’s thinking about the kids she couldn’t help. Maybe she feels like she failed you.”
Brian felt the muscles in his stomach tighten, riddled with guilt over something he’d had no control over. It hadn’t been his choice to leave. Heck, he’d been a kid, and nobody listened to what he wanted. Nobody asked where he wanted to live. Given a choice, he would’ve stayed in Shiloh Springs forever. But, if that had happened, he wouldn’t have become the man he was today. Doing the best he could to take down the bad guys, to make the world a little better place—for people like Ms. Patti. For the father he’d lost.
“She shouldn’t feel that way. The woman’s got a heart as big as Texas, and I always knew she cared.”
Sipping his coffee, they shared a moment of silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but the kind normally shared by people who’ve know one another for a long time. To be honest, it felt kind of—nice.
“Okay, you know about me and my connections to Shiloh Springs, but I don’t know anything about you, Harper. Tell me about yourself. Who are you?”
Harper picked up her cup and took a sip, before wrapping both hands around it. “Not much to tell. I’m simply an artist who likes to dabble in oils and the occasional watercolor. Day job is at an insurance company. Not exactly world shattering. I’m just your ordinary, average girl.”
“I don’t think there’s anything ordinary or average about you. The accent isn’t Texan. Where are you from originally?”
“A tiny town in Louisiana.”
“Family?”
The expression on her face vacillated between anxiety and fear, there and gone almost before it registered, but he’d caught it. Looked like there might be something there. Something he’d have to investigate.
“My family’s been out of the picture for a long time. I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen.” She pasted a smile on her face before meeting his gaze. Though she tried hard, he could see the effort it took to not show the question had upset her. “Well, Brian, it was nice meeting you. Thanks for the coffee, but I’ve got to run. I’ve got an afternoon of painting in front of me, and a commissioned piece to finish for a client. Plus, I need to work off the calories from all those goodies Jill forced on me this morning.” Harper grinned, patting her tummy, and Brian’s eyes immediately zoomed in on her body, liking what he saw.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
He walked her to the door, tossing their cups in the trash on the way out. “I hope I run into you again, Harper.”
“Next time I’ll try not to knock you off your feet.” She smiled and headed down the sidewalk, and he watched until she turned the corner, disappearing from sight. There was more to Harper Westbrook than he knew. More than the case files and suspicions. There was no way the woman he’d just spent an hour talking to could be a cold-blooded killer.
Now all he had to do was prove she hadn’t done it. And figure out who had.
Harper studied the canvas, wondering what it was that bothered her about it. This was another commissioned piece by her anonymous investor, and she’d requested the landscape of the Texas hill country. But somehow the piece wasn’t working. She knew she’d figure it out eventually, but right now it was driving her crazy.
She needed a break. For the last week she’d been working every free minute, trying to get more pieces done. Esme had called again, wanting to see what she had, and stating again she wanted to put together an exclusive event to introduce her to the public. A gallery showing for a nobody was unheard of, but somehow, she’d caught the attention of Esme Dubois, the owner of one of the top galleries in Austin. It was a fluke, but sometimes good things happen from the strangest accidents.
Harper still remembered the day she’d run into Esme. She’d been wrestling with two large canvases, struggling to keep from dropping them onto the sidewalk. Because it was an overcast, gray day, and had been sprinkling off and on all morning, she’d tried to keep them covered with an old, paint-covered tarp. Of course, some obnoxious idiot with a tray full of fancy coffee drinks managed to not only bump into her, but he’d spilled the drinks all over her and the tarp. He’d then had the nerve to cuss at her, blaming her for his stupidity before storming off. What a buffoon.
She’d spun around, hauling the canvases against her chest when she whirled around at the sound of a muffled shout and spotted the jerk who’d drenched her in coffee lying on the ground. A tall, slender woman stood over him, and from her animated gesturing and posture, she was giving him an earful. Whatever she said obviously made an impact, because the guy paled to a pasty white and raised his hands in surrender. With an elegant flip of her hair, the woman turned and strode toward Harper.
“I saw what happened. The man acted like a class A donkey’s behind, but I don’t think he’ll be accosting anybody again.” Her predatory smile sent a chill down Harper’s spine. Making a mental note not to get on the wrong side of whoever this Amazon was, she was surprised when the woman quickly adjusted the tarp over the paintings with an ease that bespoke familiarity.
“Thanks for the helping hand. I don’t what his problem was, guess he’s just having a bad day.”
“Where are you heading with those?”
Harper nodded toward the insurance office’s front door. “The owner just moved into this space and was looking for some artwork. A friend recommended me, and she asked to see a couple of paintings. I’m hoping she’ll want to buy at least one of the two. If I’m really lucky, she’ll want both.”
“Mind if I tag along? I know a bit about art, and I kind of feel invested, since I kind of helped save them.”
“Um, sure, I guess. I’m Harper.”
She smiled, and this time it was pleasant and cordial, nothing like her shark-like one earlier. “I’m Esme. Nice to meet you. Let me get the door.” With quick and efficient movements, she ushered Harper inside and the rest was history.
Picking up a rag, she wiped her hands and took a step back. Nope, she still couldn’t figure out what was wrong—or missing—but the painting wasn’t speaking to her. It didn’t have the spark, that internal light she got when she knew one of her pieces was right.
When her phone rang, she wasn’t surprised to see Esme’s name on the caller ID. Guess she’d felt Harper thinking about her.
“Hi, Esme.”
“Tell me you’re working on something amazing for your show.”
Harper resisted rolling her eyes. The woman was relentless when she got the bit between her teeth. Tenacious to a fault, she never gave up when she wanted something, and right now she wanted Harper Westbrook in her gallery.
“I’m working on the commissioned piece.”
“You don’t sound happy about it. What’s wrong?”
“How is it you can read me so well? I don’t know, but something’s not working. It’s missing the life it should have. Feels flat. I’m thinking about starting over, picking a new scene.”
“Is that what your gut’s telling you? Is it the setting or is it the mood? Look at it, not through a critical artist’s eye, but as a person who doesn’t examine every single brushstroke looking for flaws. What’s not speaking to you?”
Harper studied the picture, taking a couple of steps back. To an untrained eye, it was probably a perfectly lovely painting, a landscape that most people wouldn’t mind hanging on their wall. Above their sofa. In other words, it was bland and lifeless.
Laughing, she told Esme, “I could probably sell this for nineteen ninety-five at the flea market. It’s flat, bland, and boring. I’m going to have to start over.”
“Well, hon, you know your work better than anyone. If you say it’s wrong, then it’s wrong. Now, tell me. How is the new stuff you’re doing for the gallery going? And don’t tell me you haven’t worked on anything, because I’ll have to call you a liar. I know you well enough to know you never relax, never take time off. When you’re not at that asinine insurance job, you’re painting. Or drawing.”
“I swear sometimes I think you have me bugged or have cameras planted in the walls of my apartment.” Harper ran a hand over her hair, wincing when her fingers caught in the curls. Some days she really was tempted to chop all the length off and cut it super short. Only problem was, with curly hair, super short in the Texas heat and humidity meant super frizzy. She twined a finger around one of the hot pink curls, studying it. Might be time to do a refresh. Or a color change.
“What do you think about teal?”
“What about teal? It’s a lovely color. Are you planning to use it for your collection?”
“I was more thinking about changing out the pink. Maybe teal or—”
“No! Keep the pink. I think the pink is wonderful on you, and it’s becoming your signature color.” There was a vehemence behind Esme’s word that surprised Harper.
“Sheesh, alright. I didn’t think changing the color in my hair was that big a deal.”
“Sorry, sorry. I guess I overreacted. It’s just—I’m a little jealous of your hair, I guess. I’ve never been able to grow mine out long like yours, and I don’t have the guts to go with a bold color. So, I’m living vicariously through yours.”
“You could so rock a vibrant color. Everybody expects someone running an art gallery to be artsy and unique. You’d simply be living up to the legend.”
“Unfortunately, I also must be a businesswoman and deal with less than liberal people. It’s important I portray a smart and savvy gallery owner. You know what they say, those who can do. Those who can’t have to sell the work of those who can get the job done.”
Harper tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder, and grabbed the canvas off the easel, and placed it against the wall. The working space in her apartment was covered with paint-splattered tarps, protecting the floor. She’d even rigged up a way to have tarps covering the wall to keep any splatter from getting onto the bland beige. It was just one more reminder that she needed to find a space where she could do her art and not feel confined, either for space or creativity. Maybe she should talk to Ms. Patti. There had to be something in Shiloh Springs where she could fit in.
“You never did answer my question, Harper. What have you got for me to see?”
“You saw the two pieces that I did of the old Summers’ place. I’ve also done a couple of abstract pieces, lots of color and movement. I’m working on one of the old Victorian B&B here. It’s a beautiful old place, over a hundred years old, with so much character. I think you’ll be impressed.”
“I loved the first two you showed me, as you well know. But abstract stuff? That hasn’t been your style, at least lately. What made you try that?”
Harper shrugged before realizing Esme couldn’t see her. “When I first started painting, I did a lot of abstract stuff. Also did some black and white and gray pieces.”
“I can’t wait to see them. But listen, Harper, I know you’ve got the commission piece to do. I get it; you need the money. You’re good. Better than anybody I’ve seen in a long while. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be pushing so hard for you to do an exclusive showing. An exhibition of your work will draw in serious buyers, I swear. I know, I know, there are no guarantees in the world of art, but I’ve got a feeling your stuff is going to fly to the moon. But you need to have more than four or five pieces. A lot more.”
Harper bit her lip and didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’ll try and get you some stuff, Esme. Soon.”
“I’ll let you get back to your commission. Of course, I want to see it the minute you feel it’s ready before you give it to your investor. Okay?”
“You’ve got it. Talk to you soon.”
She barely disconnected the call when the phone rang again. Expecting it to be Esme calling again because she’d forgotten something, she frozen when she heard Ms. Patti’s voice.
“Good afternoon, Harper. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Of course not, Ms. Patti. Is there something I can do for you?”
“My dear, I hope there’s something I can do for you. A little birdie told me you might be looking for some studio space. Someplace you could paint.”
“A little birdie, huh? Is this little birdie’s name Jill by any chance?”
She could practically hear the smile in Ms. Patti’s voice when she answered, “It might be. Are you looking for a place, Harper?”
“Honestly, Ms. Patti, I just got off the phone with Esme Dubois, and was planning to call you next. My apartment isn’t the best place for trying to be creative.”
“Well, I might have a solution, if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested. Only I must be honest up front. I can’t afford anything too expensive. Shoot, I told Jill I was looking for an abandoned shed to work in.”
“I think I can do better than an abandoned shed. The place I’m thinking about isn’t huge, but I believe there’s enough room for you work. Plus, there’s a small kitchen and a bed, so when you work late, you can sleep there.”
Harper sank down on one of the dining room chairs, unable to believe what she was hearing. It sounded too good to be true.
“Ms. Patti, I don’t know what to say other than you are a miracle worker.”
“Well, let’s wait on the accolades until you’ve seen the place. Just because I think it’ll work doesn’t mean it’s exactly what you’re looking for. How soon would you be able to look at it?”
“She glanced at the clock. “I’m free for the rest of the weekend. I’m painting, but I can meet you any time that works for you.”
“I’m in town now. Had a few things to handle at the office. How about I pick up you in half an hour and take you to see the cabin? Oh, and I should let you know it’s not exactly in town, so if a bit of a drive is a dealbreaker…”
Harper felt a tingle of anticipation begin deep inside. A cabin, big enough for her to paint? Perfect. Not actually in town so nobody stopping by and interrupting her when she was creating? Perfect. Taking a deep breath, she stood.
“Sounds great. That give me just enough time to clean up, since I’m covered in paint. Thank you again, Ms. Patti.”
“Nonsense. You’re practically family, and family takes care of each other. See you soon.”
Harper disconnected the call, standing frozen in the center of her apartment.
Family? Did Ms. Patti just say I was practically family?
Brushing away the tear that slid down her cheek, she drew in a shaky breath. Those few simple words—spoken with an honesty she knew was heartfelt—Ms. Patti couldn’t realize how wondrous they felt. Because she knew what having the wrong family meant. And she’d witnessed, watching the Boudreaus, what a real, loving family was supposed to be like.
And she desperately wanted to be a part of that, even if it was on the periphery.