Chapter Nineteen

Tara stepped back from the easel and attempted to rub the crick out of her neck. Letting out a yawn, she turned her stiff body toward the clock behind her. It was past 9:30, and she had not given herself a break since dinner, which had consisted of tea and a small bag of chips she had stowed away in one of the cabinets. She sighed as she looked at the canvas. The painting of the farmhouse had once been as perfect as the one in Marley’s ornament and as pretty as all the landscapes Tara had painted and sold through the years. What it had not been was honest.

She did not like painting portraits, and only now did she realize why. There was too much potential for truth, and damn, had creating the new, small images on the painting knocked her on her butt. Her heart hammered the entire time, and only when she had stood back to view her progress could she see what she had actually created.

The walls of the house, once pristine white, were now marred with gray streaks and cob webs, much like it had been the last time Tara saw it. A swirling tempest, similar to the one she painted earlier, brewed in the background, threatening and scary. A girl with wild, dark hair ran on the lawn, attempting to get inside while another girl with similar features held on to the hem of her shirt, not letting her move. The wild haired girl reached out with both hands, her face contorted in desperation. The door was cracked, but she couldn’t go in. The storm was going to devour her.

It was dark, it was emotional, and it was completely unsellable. Yet, Tara knew she would do more in this vein. Aunt Lady had warned her about letting art take a backseat to money, and apparently, her muse had listened.

Deciding she couldn’t take anymore for the night, she set to work cleaning her brushes, only to be interrupted by the sound of her phone. She picked it up and saw the number she had been hoping to see since Justin left that afternoon.

“Hello.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Justin.” She walked across the room and settled into the chair. “I’ve been thinking about you and Marley all evening. How did it go?”

She heard him blow out a long breath, and she wished she was with him, stroking his hair as she had done that afternoon. “Well, I now know why she never talks about her mom. She doesn’t want to make me feel bad because she blames herself and Sharon for my mother’s death.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah. Apparently, she overheard a conversation that never should have happened and has been carrying it around with her ever since.”

“She knows better now, though, right?”

“We talked about it, and hopefully, I got through to her. Thing is, once you start blaming yourself for something, it’s hard to stop.”

“Maybe the two of you can work on that together.”

“I have a lot I need to work on when it comes to her. Our relationship is as battered as this old house.”

“Ah, but that old house has a strong foundation and only needs some attention to make it as beautiful as it ever was.” She drew in a deep breath, allowing the truth in with it. Marley needed the farm just as much as Tara ever had. Justin needed it, too. “You did the right thing bringing her here.”

“You really believe that?”

“I do.”

She heard him sigh again and could imagine a slight smile on his face. “What were you doing when I called?”

“I was just about to call it a night and put my brushes away.”

“You’re still working? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“Artists don’t keep regular hours, I’m afraid.”

They were silent for a moment, and Tara thought she heard the rustling of sheets, like he was getting into bed. She curled further into the chair, letting the idea of his relaxed, sleepy frame take over her mind. What would he sleep in, she wondered. Shirtless? That was the picture she chose. Having felt the strength of his arms around her, she could only imagine what they would look like bared. She thought back to the first time they met and how she had wanted to sketch him. The thought of that portrait, surprisingly, did not frighten her at all.

“Would you model for me?”

“For a painting?”

“Yes.”

He laughed softly, intimately. “If you want to get me naked, Tara, there’s an easier way to go about it.”

The tone of her laugh mimicked his. “And what would that be?”

“Just get naked first.”

She could actually feel herself blushing, though he was miles away and had no idea how hard her heart was beating at the thought. “It’s the model who is supposed to bare it all for the artist, not the other way around.”

He tisked. “Who knew such double standards existed in the art world. Okay, then. You can model for me.”

She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in months. It could be the painting and the emotional deluge that came with it, but Tara suspected it had more to do with the man. “You are wicked, Justin Hunter.”

She heard the sheets rustle again. “Sweetheart, you have no idea.” Then after a slight pause he added, “But I can’t wait to show you.”