CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

 

Jon looked back over his shoulder to see J.C. waving goodbye to him as he headed out in the truck to the copse of trees close to the house.

“It’s great to have your help, son.”

“You can count on me.” Jon yelled. He would make sure that his parents had an adequate supply of firewood as well as taking care of a couple of trees that had fallen during the winter months.

He stopped the truck close to where a brook trickled over a bed of smooth rock. He loved this little wooded area. There were birch and a few maples scattered among the oaks and mesquite.

Arranging his equipment nearby, Jon shed his shirt and pulled on leather work gloves. He yanked the cord on the chainsaw. The sound ripped through the silence of the copse of trees and startled a covey of quail from the underbrush.

Jon watched them take flight, squinting in the dappled sunlight. The beauty of his surroundings filled his chest with a lonely ache. He longed to share this sight with someone who would appreciate it. He longed to share it with Max.

Resolutely, he began to cut the fallen trees into manageable lengths. The sun filtering down through the branches overhead felt good on his bare shoulders.

He spent most of the morning ripping into the fallen trees. He brushed wood chips out of his hair before taking the axe from the back of the truck. Splitting logs released a lot of his pent up anger. He wasn’t even sure who he was angry with any more.

“Max!” He said her name out loud as he swung the axe. He was angry with Max, but he was still in love with Millie. Sweet, naïve Millie. She loved him.

How did Max, the brilliant artist feel about him? It was Max Foster who’d opened her door with her bathrobe clutched around her shoulders. It was she who’d screamed his name when they made love in his shower.

Jon loved her beauty and passion. He loved her sweetness and her...lies! He loved the bullshit she’d fed him. He loved the way she’d made him feel.

He felt used and he wasn’t sure why. She’d gotten her art show. He’d have given her that anyway. He was willing to give the show to Max Foster when he thought Max was a man and when he’d thought that Millie was in love with him.

Jon brought the axe down again with satisfaction.

The business he’d built up from nothing was now dead. He imagined that the designers who’d been working for him had their resumes out, whispering that they’d left Claremont after the scandal; that they were trying their best to distance themselves from him and his disgrace. And other designers, like Oleg Cantwell, were scrambling to ingratiate themselves to his former clients.

He’d have to go back eventually, if only to clean out his office and sell off the fixtures.

His parents had been right all along. Ranching was the way of life he was meant to live. And he couldn’t expect a city girl like Max to be content with this out-of-the-way haven.

He blinked. Where had that thought come from? He wasn’t even speaking to Max Foster, let along proposing to her.

After loading the split logs into the truck bed, he drove back to the house.

Jon stacked the newly cut wood and placed the old, seasoned logs on top. When his tasks were done he used his shirt to brush off stray bits of sawdust and wood chips before entering the house.

“Come in the kitchen, Jon,” his mother called. “You didn’t come back for lunch. I was worried about you.”

Jon gave her a look. “Mom, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m a grown man.”

“That’s what your friend Millie said when I called you my boy.” Carla’s eyes twinkled with warmth.

“She did?” Jon smiled through the stab of pain.

“I made you a couple of cold meatloaf sandwiches to hold you over until dinner. Wash your hands. You can sit right here in the kitchen and keep me company.”

Jon pulled a stool up to the countertop and bit into a sandwich. “Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

“Your daddy told me about your falling out with Millie,” Carla said. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I hope the two of you can work it out.”

Jon shrugged and continued eating.

His mother’s eyes searched his. “For what it’s worth, I thought your Millie was a real nice girl.”

“Max, Mom. Her name is Max Foster. She lied to me about her name.”

Carla smiled, her brown eyes twinkling. “Millie or Max, it doesn’t matter what her name is. That little girl’s in love with you.” She turned to stir something simmering in a shiny stockpot sitting atop the six-burner gas range.

Jon tried to sound casual as he asked, “What makes you think so?”

She turned back to him, an amused grin on her face. “I’m a woman and I can tell. Why don’t you give her a call?”

An unintelligible frustrated explosion of sound erupted from his throat. “She’s the only female in the western hemisphere without a cell phone glued to her head and she doesn’t have a land line either. Besides, I wouldn’t know what to say to her.”

“You could tell her how you feel,” Carla said.

“I don’t know how I feel.” He shoved the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

“I think you do,” Carla said. “It’s okay to tell her that you’re mad at her, or disappointed or whatever. But she must feel awful, not knowing at all how you feel.”

“I figured she was laughing herself silly at my expense.” Jon’s expression darkened. “She did a good job of making a complete fool out of me.”

“Do you think that was her intention?” Carla’s steady gaze made Jon feel uncomfortable. He hadn’t considered how Max might be feeling.

“I don’t have any idea what her intention was,” he growled. “I just know the outcome.”

“Tell me what’s standing between the two of you right now, beside the distance.” Carla rinsed his plate and slid it into the dishwasher. “I mean, other than your pride.”

Jon stared at his hands, digesting his mother’s words.

“Telephone for you, son.” J.C. brought the handset to the kitchen and placed it on the counter close to Jon’s hand. “It’s a female.”

“Nobody knows I’m here,” he said.

“Somebody does,” Carla pulled J.C. out of the kitchen to allow Jon some privacy.

He took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

“Mr. Donnell? It’s Courtney.”

“Courtney, how did you find me?” It had been almost two weeks since he’d pulled his disappearing act.

He heard her nervous giggle. “It wasn’t easy. I checked your rolodex.”

“What do you want?” He sounded snappish even to his own ears. “I mean, what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Donnell, there are so many people trying to get in touch with you. I have a list of clients who want you to design a project for them, but I didn’t know when you’d be back so I haven’t made appointments and they just keep calling so what shall I tell them?” She finished a bit out of breath.

Jon blinked. He replayed everything Courtney had said as though decoding a foreign language. His business wasn’t dead? Everyone hadn’t jumped ship?

He cleared his throat. “How...how are things?”

“Busy! Everyone is slaving away to finish projects so we can be ready when you get back. It looks like we’re going to be very busy.”

“Next week,” he said. “I’ll be back next week.”

“Okay, Mr. Donnell,” she said. “I’ll start taking appointments for next week.”

He hung up, feeling dazed. He’d thought his career as a designer was over after the art show debacle.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to return to Houston. There were too many unknowns waiting there for him.

~*~

Merrick motored out of Galveston Bay under a clear sky with the wind kicking. Bobbing in six foot swells, he watched Willa and Max rigging the crisp white sails. He’d bought a new set for the racing season. He was breaking them in and training his crew.

He chuckled as he watched Max solemnly instructing Willa in her duties.

His first boat had been a Sunfish. Then he’d graduated to catamarans. Max had always been his willing crew. They’d had some mishaps on the smaller boats, sometimes landing them both in the drink with the boat on its side. But Max had usually been a good sport, helping him right the boat and bail out the hull, as necessary. He could always count on her.

And she could always count on him.

Merrick’s mouth tightened, thinking of Jon Donnell. He wished now he’d pounded him harder when he’d had the chance.

Max and Willa had their heads together. They were working as a team. It was important for his crew to work like a well-oiled machine.

The thirty-six-foot Beneteau offered greater comfort than the smaller boats, and it required more skill to sail in a regatta. Turning a bigger boat around a race course was like choreographing a dance, only you were dancing with the wind.

“Would you like some help?” he offered.

“We’re doing fine, big bro,” Max said. “Just back off and let us do this.”

Willa and Merrick exchanged a glance. He sensed it was important for Max to accomplish this task without his assistance. He stood close, spraying lubricant in the stainless steel track of the mast and rubbing off the excess with a soft cloth.

“What’s bothering you, Max,” Willa asked.

“You mean besides the fact that I haven’t seen Jon in weeks...since the night of the show?”

Willa smiled. “Yeah, besides that.”

“How about the notice I found in my mailbox? The man who owns my building can’t make the repairs demanded by the city inspectors. He’s putting it up for sale.”

“They’re selling your building?” Merrick asked.

“No telling who’ll buy it. It’s close enough to downtown to attract business but there are other buildings nearby being turned into high-dollar lofts for young professionals working in the city. I could be homeless.”

Max fed the main sail into the track as Willa started to raise it. Wordlessly, Merrick grabbed the lines, adding his muscle to Willa’s efforts.

“Why don’t you buy the building, Max?” Willa asked.

Max stared at her with her mouth open. “Me? I’ve never owned anything.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t buy it. You’re in love with your loft and I don’t think you’d find a better place to work.” Willa looked at Merrick. “Am I right?”

Merrick grinned at them. “I can see Max as a landlady but I think you’d have to collect the rents for her.”

“I can do that,” Willa said.

“But I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m sure I can’t afford it.” Max’s brows drew together in a frown.

“Give me the information and I’ll check it out for you. I’m in real estate up to my neck.” Merrick took the jib sheet, threaded it swiftly into its track and raised it into place. “Are you girls ready to sail now?”

“Aye-aye, skipper.” Max nudged Willa. “He likes it when you say that.”

Willa grinned mischievously. “He does, does he?”

Merrick flashed her a dimpled grin. “Remember that.”

~*~

When Merrick dropped Max off at her loft, she looked at the structure with new eyes. What would she do if it belonged to her?

The former industrial site had been divided into four large lofts per each of its three floors. Most of them were empty. She was the only tenant on the third floor. Sherman and another artist were on the second and the lone tenant on the first floor was a young fashion designer who produced one of a kind formalwear and wedding gowns.

Max tried the handles of the unoccupied lofts on the ground floor and found one unlocked. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The cavernous space was one of two facing the parking lot while two similar units faced the street. Damaged pipes hung from the ceiling. A musty smell permeated the air. More than a dozen tables were stacked in one corner along with a series of mis-matched chairs.

Carefully, Max picked her way through the debris on the floor. Some sort of kitchen stretched across the back wall. This must have been a restaurant of some sort.

If she were able to obtain this property, perhaps Merrick would help her clean it up and make it usable. The location was great. If the lofts were leased to responsible tenants this might be a good investment after all.

Max wished Jon was with her. She didn’t want to take on a new project without his input. She needed his approval.

No, I don’t.

It had been weeks and she hadn’t heard from him. He was sending a message loud and clear. Jon was through with her and she needed to accept the fact and move on.

“Easier said than done,” she said aloud. Jon wasn’t easy to forget. The thing that upset her most was that he’d completely shut her out, not willing to listen to anything she might have to say in her defense.

She sighed. She didn’t have anything to say in her defense.

She gave the space a final perusal and closed the door on it. Best not to consider taking on such a major project. Better to stick to what she knew. Painting.

Later that evening, Merrick and Willa returned to Max’s loft. They brought a bucket of fried chicken and several sides.

“What’s all this?” she asked.

“We knew you wouldn’t have anything to eat here and we were starving.” Merrick arranged the food on the stool beside the futon. “We have a proposition for you.”

“Bring it.” Max reached in the bucket for a drumstick and bit into it with relish.

Merrick sat on one side of her and Willa on the other. They looked at each other and then began speaking at once.

“You tell her.” Willa smiled and reached for a piece of chicken.

“I want to invest in this building with you,” Merrick said. “It’s going to take some work to bring it up to code and there are some back taxes. I’m sure that’s why it’s being dumped. It’s not listed yet, but I contacted the owner of record and he’s meeting us here tomorrow at eleven. If we buy it direct from him we’ll save a realtor’s fee.”

She felt dizzied by the rush on information. “This is happening so fast.”

“Sometimes opportunities present themselves and you have to jump on them,” he said. “Or regret not acting and watch someone else step up.”

She turned to Willa. “You really think it’s a good idea?”

“Actually, I have a separate proposition for you.” Willa’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “Do you realize how much money Cherise Gilman made off of your paintings? She had the venue for showcasing your work and invited her customers to your opening but most of the clientele came from Jon. I think we could open a successful gallery for your work as well as other artists. We’d have more control of sales.”

Max experienced a churning sensation in her stomach. “You guys are scaring me.”

“You have a small fortune moldering away in your bank account,” Willa said. “You could invest in real estate and cut your taxes significantly.”

Max turned to Merrick, questioningly.

He wiped his fingers on a napkin and reached for another piece of chicken. “I think it would be a good investment. You could still spend your time painting in your loft and be on hand to oversee our property. I have the means and manpower to renovate the place. We could attract some stable tenants for the other spaces and be able to turn a profit.”

Max tried to focus on what he was saying. “This is all so scary for me. What happens if we buy it and fix it up but nobody wants to live here? I’ll be broke and you’ll shrug your shoulders and go sailing.”

“Not going to happen,” he said. “This is Houston. This property value can only increase.”

Max felt excitement stirring in her stomach. For the first time since the night of the gallery opening, she had something to look forward to. “I think I’m in, but I’m terrified.”

Willa let out a war whoop and grabbed her in a bear hug. Merrick wrapped his arms around them both, still holding his piece of chicken.

Max felt a tear roll down her cheek, but it was a surge of joy and not her usual misery that inspired it.