CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

 

Jon received a call from one of his Associate Designers at the Claremont Design Group, begging him to return to Houston. It seemed that his clients and would-be clients were besieging the offices with requests for his services. Jon told him that he’d be returning to work the following Monday.

He sat staring at the phone. He wanted to see the woman he loved more than he wanted air to breathe, but he didn’t have the faintest idea who she really was. Would he return to find Millie with a different name, or would she be a stranger, this ‘Max’ who’d lied to and manipulated him?

He knew his parents were concerned. Carla was smothering him with motherly advice. It was so obvious that she wanted him to get back together with his Millie. Everything was so simple in her world.

J.C. mostly kept his opinions to himself, giving Jon enough space to work it out on his own. It was the way those hawk-sharp eyes stayed on him, fiercely protective, alert for any way in which he could help his son heal.

Jon shook his head, a grim little smile on his lips. No matter what happened, his father was always on his side. If he’d proposed driving to Houston to hogtie and kidnap Max, he was sure that J.C. would be right there holding the rope.

He went back out to the barn where he’d been helping J.C. before the phone call had pulled him away.

“Was it your girl?” J.C. asked.

“It wasn’t her. She doesn’t have this number and I’m not even sure she’s still my girl, Dad.” He and J.C. were examining an assortment of metal tools and equipment, scraping rusted areas and treating them with lubricant to ensure that all moving parts were in working order.

“You’re never going to find out sitting here.”

Jon quirked an eyebrow at his father. “You may have noticed that I’m not sitting.” He reached for a file to sharpen the edge of a blade. The metal-on-metal sound echoed to the rafters. “I’m helping you.”

“That you are,” J.C. agreed amiably. “And I appreciate your help.”

“Then, what’s the problem? I thought you were anxious for me to move back home for good.”

J.C. gave him a long piercing gaze. “I want you to do what’s right for you. This ranch will always be here. When your mama and I pass on, the land will remain.”

“Now might be the right time for me to make a change,” Jon said. “I love this ranch too, Dad.”

“I know you do, son. And it’s always here for you, but you’ve got to follow your passion. It would sure be a waste of your talents to spend the rest of your days managing cattle and pastures.”

Jon shook his head. “I’m not an artist.”

“Yes, you are,” J.C. asserted. “You don’t have to be putting paint on a canvas to be an artist. You’re using your talent and training in another way.” He smacked Jon on the forearm. “And you’re good at it.”

He grinned at his father. “No, I’m great at it.”

J.C. cocked his head and gave Jon a wink. “Why did you work so hard to get to the top, just to turn your back and walk away from it?”

Jon hung his head, running his fingers through his thick crop of hair. “I thought...I thought my career was over. I thought no one would want to hire me after the burglaries. I was the key to the whole plan. If I hadn’t been such a dope, Dean Alonso couldn’t have had access to all those homes. I was even dumb enough to provide him with the truck to haul away the loot.”

“You were too trusting,” J.C. said. “But your heart was in the right place.”

“But why would anyone want me to come into their homes when I might give a crook the keys to the castle?”

“If I were you, I’d be grateful that people like you, and I wouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

Jon grinned. “Gift horse, huh? Did you ever hear of the Trojan Horse?”

J.C.’s steely gaze was like the blue flame on a gas stove. A steady, dependably flame burning with truth and intelligence. “You know you’ve got to go back and face whatever you left behind, including that little girl of yours.”

“Dad, she’s not---“

“Then you need to go back and make it official. Tell her off. Let her know you’re mad at her. Tell her it’s over.” J.C.’s penetrating gaze stripped away his defenses. “It is over, isn’t it?”

~*~

Max, Merrick and Willa met with the buildings owner. Merrick had warned the women to keep quiet and let him negotiate.

Max’s stomach was quaking. She was both excited by the prospects of the venture and terrified as well.

The owner turned out to be in his seventies and quite frail. He explained that he had neither the resources nor the energy to renovate the property and the city building inspector was mandating changes. He handed the keys to Merrick and drove away, too exhausted to walk through with them.

“I told him I’d bring the keys to his home tomorrow with our offer.” Merrick shrugged. “I was expecting some big tough real estate tycoon, not a sickly old man.”

Willa grabbed the keys. “Oooh, we’re on our own.” She jingled the keys and danced around. “I’m so excited I could just scream.”

Max leaned her head against Merrick’s shoulder. “It looks like the inmates are in charge of the asylum.”

“So it appears.”

Max showed them the former restaurant site first. The custom dressmaker was also located facing the parking lot. They opened the two other empty spaces on the ground floor that faced toward the street side.

Willa danced around inside the first space, raising a storm of dust motes.

“This is it, Max. This is our gallery,” she said.

Max sneezed several times in succession. She walked around, trying to catch Willa’s vision. The bank of plate glass windows facing the street had been boarded up from the exterior of the building. The high ceiling was criss-crossed with a maze of heating ducts and water pipes. She found bathrooms and a deep sink in the back and a small office complete with a rusted metal desk.

When she walked back to Willa and Merrick, a grin spread across her face. “Okay, I get it,” she said. “I’m ready to do this. There’s even a place for a darkroom back there. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to get back into photography.”

They walked through the other unoccupied spaces, Merrick making notes as they went. He sighed and told them that the plumbing and wiring needed to be replaced as well as the heating and cooling systems.

“That’s just for starters,” he said. “Investing in those basics will bring it up to code but we have to work on the aesthetics if we want to attract urban professional tenants.”

The more Merrick added to the inventory of needed repairs, the more uneasy Max became.

“Can we do this?” She peeked at the growing list. “Can we afford it?”

Merrick grinned at her. “Trust me. I have vast resources. We’ll only use a little of our cash and a lot of someone else’s.”

“Then it won’t be ours,” Max protested.

“It will be ours and the mortgage bank’s.”

“That’s the first rule of business, Max,” Willa said. “Never invest your own capital.”

Max stepped away from them, gazing up at the soaring ceilings and blank walls. “I’ll let you business types take care of the finances, but I insist on complete creative license.”

Merrick glanced at Willa. “That’s a deal, Max.”

Willa assumed a pose, tapping her forefinger against her temple. “And, I just realized that, since Jon disappeared, it means our verbal agreement with him is off. Now you can work with all the other Houston designers.”

Max huffed out a sigh. “Screw the designers!”

“Yeah, screw the designers,” Merrick echoed.

~*~

Jon found a delivery notice on his door when he returned to the city. He called the building manager who told him a large package was being held for him in the office.

Jon brought it up in the elevator, anticipating as well as dreading its contents. Gilman Galleries was the return address.

Leaning it against the wall, he poured himself a drink before summoning the courage to tear the paper off and examine it.

When he carefully removed the paper and bubble-wrap, he found himself staring into impossibly blue eyes. The self-portrait Max had painted with the little mole on the wrong side stared back at him. He’d quietly purchased the painting before the show opened, never imagining the evenings outcome.

Jon reached out to touch the canvas. He wanted to touch the warm flesh of the model but he wasn’t ready to face her, not yet.

He took down the painting hanging over the fireplace in his bedroom and hung the portrait of Max in its place. Jon raised his glass and toasted her image.

Sliding onto his bed, he refilled his glass and opened the floodgate of emotion he’d held firmly closed. Memories of Max poured into his mind as he recalled every moment they’d spent together.

He sank into a morass of alcohol assisted reverie wherein he relived the pleasures she’d provided. He could feel the texture of her silken hair and smell the fragrance of her shampoo.

He dreamed of her. When he awoke it was Monday morning and he was saddened all over again not to find her beside him.

Jon squinted his eyes against the glint of sunlight stabbing in through the open drapes. His head throbbed and he felt the room tilt as he stepped onto the usually firm carpeting.

He managed to shower and drive himself to his office. There, he had to contend with Courtney’s hovering and her concerned expression.

“These are your messages, Mr. Donnell,” she said, handing him a sheaf of papers. “And here’s your appointment book. The Grafton-Majors are coming in at eleven to discuss a new project and the Simons will be here at one. And, please call the oil guy, Mr. Riggins. He wants a new lobby for his building.”

“Thanks Courtney,” he said. “Is there something else?”

“I just wanted to say that we...I really missed you around here and... I think the beard is hot.” She flashed him a grin and ran out of his office.

Jon ran his fingers over his scruffy face. It wasn’t a beard. He hadn’t bothered to shave during the time he’d spent at the ranch and he’d intended to shave this morning, but he’d been afraid he might be tempted to cut his throat.

He glanced through his mail and messages before attempting to arrange his desk. By the time Courtney showed the Grafton-Majors into his office the throbbing in his head had been reduced to a dull thump and he was almost totally focused.

~*~

Merrick prepared an offer for the structure and Max signed beside his name. The old man hadn’t wanted much and that was good, considering the mountain of renovations facing them.

The next day, Merrick had a giant dumpster delivered to the parking lot. He and his crew started removing debris from the individual lofts.

Max and Willa made a beeline for the space they’d claimed for their gallery. Max opened the outside door to the sidewalk to freshen the air.

Willa tied her hair up under a bandana and grabbed a push broom to sweep, stirring a significant amount of dust.

“Whazzup, ladies?” Sherman strolled into their domain. “What’s all the uproar going on in the parking lot?”

“Sherman!” Max greeted him with a hug. “You’ll never guess! My brother and I just bought this building.”

Sherman gave her a stony gaze, holding her at arms length. “So, you’re my new landlady, eh?”

Max raised her brows. “Is that so bad?”

“Depends,” Sherman said. “You’re one of my best friends, Max. I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

“Don’t worry, Sherman. You can hand your rent over to Willa. She loves money.”

“Not true,” Willa protested. “I just love the things that money can buy.”

“If we hadn’t grabbed it,” Max said, “the building was scheduled for the auction block. It might have gone to someone who wanted to make the whole thing into a parking lot.”

Sherman wandered around the space, lifted the lid of a large box, and closed it back up. “You have a box of glass here. Some of it’s broken. Is my rent going up?”

“I don’t think so, but the building is going to undergo vast improvements.” Max grinned at him. “You may actually be proud to live here.”

Sherman’s brow knit and his mouth turned down. “This isn’t just my home,” he said. “It’s my workplace. My studio.”

“Relax, Sherman,” Willa said. “We have a long way to go before this place is habitable.”

Sherman gave himself a dramatic smack on the forehead. “But, I’ll never find such a great crib, man.”

“Relax, my friend. We don’t want you to,” Max said. “You’re standing in the middle of our gallery. We want to show some of your work.”

Sherman’s face split into a wide, white-toothed grin. “A gallery?”

“Right here. Look at the wall space.” Max gestured to the three solid planes. “I can see huge paintings and graphics.”

Willa spoke up from across the room. “We’re hoping to attract some up-and-coming local artists. A sort of artist’s community, if you will.”

Max nodded vigorously. “We can sell their work right here and Willa might be able to represent them in other venues.”

A wide grin spread across Sherman’s face. “Funny you should mention that, because I can see some of my amazing metal sculptures standing right in the middle of this room.”

~*~

At the end of the day, Merrick drove Willa and Max to a restaurant with a buffet bar. They’d attempted a quick clean up at Max’s place but Max still felt gritty.

The mingled aromas reminded her that she hadn’t eaten recently. She filled a plate at the grill and returned to the table.

“That looks nutritious.” Willa looked at Max’s plate piled with steak, fried shrimp, grilled chicken and a small bowl of mashed potatoes with cream gravy. “Did you miss the salad bar?”

“Nope, I ignored it. It looked way too healthy” Max pulled the tail off a batter-fried shrimp and defiantly popped it into her mouth.

“Leave her alone, Willa,” Merrick said. “She worked like a Trojan today.”

“So did I,” Willa protested.

Merrick looked at her pointedly. “And you got to choose your food like a big girl. Let Max eat what she likes.”

Max suddenly pushed away from the table and ran to the bathroom. She made it to the first stall before throwing up.

Willa followed her and offered a handful of paper towels.

“I guess you were right about my food.” Max rinsed her mouth with a handful of water. “It was too much grease for me.”

Willa raised her finely arched brows. “How long has this been going on?”

Max ran her wet hands over her face. “A few days, maybe more.” She took the paper towel and blotted her face. “Please don’t tell Merrick.”

Willa folded her arms across her chest. “Your big brother is going to kill Jon Claude Donnell.”