Redemption road, p.7
Redemption Road, page 7
“That’s how they lure you in,” Duncan said. “You’re fresh meat. Next time you go shopping you’ll visit them again, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “But surely they can’t do that with every customer.”
“No,” he said. “But as far as you’re concerned, you’re the long-lost O’Hara cousin they never had. Don’t worry. By the end of it you’ll have spent a fortune many times over. Sometimes I think they charge me double.”
He stuck his head down in the trunk so it was next to hers. “How many times are you going to keep moving that one bag around?” he asked.
“I was just trying to make sure it fit,” she said.
“Uh-huh. Do I make you nervous?”
She jerked her head up and hit the top of the trunk, and she uttered a word that probably wasn’t said very often on Laurel Valley’s public streets.
Duncan grinned at her and pressed his fingers to the top of her head to ease the sting. “Good one,” he said. “Very creative.”
“No, you don’t make me nervous,” she said.
“Good, because that would be silly. Especially since you fell into my arms and I’ve tucked you into bed.”
Her face heated before she could help herself and he grinned again.
“Good,” he said. “I’d hate for the attraction to be one sided.”
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked. “Have you been drinking?”
“You’ve got to be hungry,” he said. “Let’s get some lunch. The Lampstand should have cleared out a bit from the lunch crowd.”
“I…” But Hattie found herself walking back across the street to the restaurant she’d visited her first day in Laurel Valley.
Before he could open the door to the restaurant for her she put her hand on his arm and stopped him.
“I’ve about had my fill of being steamrolled by O’Haras today. I don’t know if it’s hereditary or if you’re just used to being in charge, but how about you ask questions every now and again instead of giving orders?”
His lips twitched and he nodded. “I can do that,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, I did it on purpose. You’re beautiful when your mad is up.”
Her mouth opened in shock just as he ushered her inside the diner.
“Hey, stranger,” Mac called out. She ran at him and gave him a huge hug, and he swung her around before putting her back on her feet.
And then Mac did the same to Hattie. “I wondered when you’d be back.”
“You mean you wondered if she survived the drive out to the lake house?” Duncan asked pointedly.
“Geez,” she said. “I already got a strip torn off me from Mom. I don’t need you to lay in too.”
“Oh, no,” Hattie said, patting Mac on the back reassuringly. “It wasn’t her fault. She did try to stop me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mac said. “Alice and I both felt guilty for letting you leave. I worried about you all afternoon until I got home and I heard the news about you on the network. It’s a miracle you ended up falling into Duncan’s arms.” And then she winked at her cousin. “Seems like fate if you ask me.”
Chapter Nine
“Nobody asked you,” Duncan said, tapping Mac on the nose. “But we’ll be taking the corner booth.” Then he turned to Hattie. “Do you want the special? It’s what I always get. You can’t go wrong with Johan’s cooking. Aunt Simone brought him here all the way from Sweden when she opened this place several years ago. She posted on the network this morning he’s serving bison meat loaf and mashed potatoes.”
Hattie had no clue what was going on, or why people kept talking about a network.
“Why do y’all keep talking about a network? What network?”
“The O’Hara network,” Mac said. “How else are we supposed to know what’s going on?”
“It’s a lot,” Duncan said. “I mostly ignore it. You’d think the family didn’t see each other every day or have Sunday dinners once a week by the way they carry on.”
“The O’Hara network is better than the news,” Mac boasted proudly. “We work all over town, so we can keep our finger on the pulse of all the interesting stuff going on. And right now, you’re interesting stuff.”
Hattie had no idea how to respond so she said, “I think I’ll have the special.” And then she slid into the booth across from Duncan.
“Drinks?” Mac asked.
“Sparkling water,” Hattie said. “With lemon.”
“Same for me,” Duncan said.
“Two sparklings with lemon and two specials,” Mac said. “Coming right up.”
Several people greeted Duncan by name, and she looked on with jealousy. How incredible it must be to be interwoven into this community for generations so that everyone knows your name. And then she realized all eyes were on Duncan.
“Why is everyone staring at you?” Hattie asked.
“They’re not,” he said. “They’re staring at you. Can’t say I blame them.”
“Do you have an evil twin or something?” she asked. “You are the same Duncan O’Hara I met three days ago? The one with the perpetual scowl and penchant for making people feel welcome?”
He smiled unrepentantly and she wished she didn’t find it so charming. He looked like a little kid who’d gotten his hand stuck in the cookie jar.
“I told you,” he said. “You interrupted my work three days ago. I’m over it now. I’ve been working nonstop the last couple of days. I’ve been incredibly productive. And now I’m hungry.”
“Congratulations,” she said. “I’ve basically slept the entire time since I saw you last.”
“I figured you would,” he said. “I wasn’t sure how much longer you would be able to stay upright. My mom tried to stop by a couple of times and see if you needed anything, but she said it looked like the place was deserted. My dad had to talk her down from breaking in and making sure you were okay.”
“That’s lovely,” she said, smiling. “Tell her thank you. I just needed to catch up. I woke up this morning refreshed and ready to shop. I was going to check out the sporting goods store while I was out. I’m supposed to start work next week.”
“I can take you by,” he said. “You’ve got a good staff, and they’re all very knowledgeable. They’ve been unpacking inventory and getting things set up. October is a big bass fishing month, and then deer season starts in November. Then it’ll be time for all the skiers to come in. You’re going to be very busy. Do you know anything about sporting goods?”
“No,” she said, letting out a nervous sigh. “But I know a lot about business. If I’ve got good employees, then I only need for them to know a lot about it. But I’m sure I’ll pick up things along the way.”
Mac chose that moment to deliver their order, setting down the tray of food with a practiced hand.
“They’re really excited to meet you at the store,” Mac said, not even pretending like she hadn’t been eavesdropping. “Mom said Hank really went above and beyond on the building. There’s no place like it at any of the other resort towns. And Grandma said you’re going to be great. She said Atticus told her you’re a business genius and that when the other stores open you can manage the whole region.”
“A bunch of gossips,” Duncan said, inhaling the aroma of the food set before him. “Ahh, talk about genius. No one comes close to Johan.”
“I’m gonna tell Grandma that,” Mac said, shaking her head.
Duncan shrugged. “Aunt Simone retired and she hasn’t left cookies on my doorstep in weeks. I don’t even know if she can cook anymore.”
“Maybe if you’d come to Sunday dinner every once in a while,” Mac said.
“Now you sound like my mother,” Duncan said. “Besides, that has nothing to do with this family’s gossip problem. Hattie just got here. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”
“It’s not gossip if it’s news,” Mac said. “And Hattie is news. How’d you know she was in town today?”
“Yeah,” Hattie said, narrowing her eyes. “How did you know?”
Color rose in Duncan’s cheeks.
“I can answer that,” Mac said. “It’s because Raven called my mom the second you left her store. And then my cousin Jillian called her mom when you left the bookstore. Besides, after Duncan told Aunt Anne that he wanted to paint you everyone is dying to meet you. He’s super picky.”
“You told your mom you want to paint me?” Hattie asked.
Mac raised her eyebrows and then made a quick exit from the table.
“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure I mentioned that to you when you fell into my house. By the way, I’m supposed to invite you to family dinner. O’Haras are very big on family dinners.”
Hattie saw him shudder. “You don’t like family dinners?”
“I love my family,” he said. “But there are a lot of them. And by a lot, I mean it’s ridiculous. And while I love my family, crowds are not my forte. There’s no privacy, everyone is always talking at once, and someone always ends up getting tossed in the lake. It’s exhausting.”
“And you love every minute of it,” she said. “I can tell by the look on your face.”
“Yeah, well, I go from time to time. When I’m not working.”
“How often are you not working?” she said.
He shrugged and said, “It’s been a pretty hectic year. I’ve had seven major shows all over the world to get ready for. I pop in when I can.”
There was more there than he was saying. It was obvious he loved his family, but it was also obvious he was keeping his distance. She decided there was no point in pressing. He had a stubborn set to his mouth that told her he was done talking on the subject.
“You said you saw my art in New York,” he said.
She froze, fear taking hold of her, and the food she was trying to swallow seemed like it was swelling and almost impossible to swallow.
“No I didn’t,” she said, taking a drink.
“Right before you went to sleep,” he said. His voice was steady. There was no condemnation or accusation. “You told me you knew who I was. I’m assuming you put it together after you saw the painting in my guest bedroom. And you mentioned New York when you said you’d been to the Dynamis Security offices there. Is that where you’re from?”
“Yes,” she said. Stay as close to the truth as possible.
“Laurel Valley takes care of its own,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“It means you’re safe here.”
She didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything.
“You’ve moved a long way,” he said. “You’re on your own, but whether you like it or not, you’ve been adopted into the nosiest family you’ll ever meet.” He grinned. “You can trust us. Any of us.”
Hattie nodded, even though she had no intention of trusting anyone but Atticus. The more people who knew the truth the more dangerous it would be for her. It was a secret she’d have to keep.
“While you’ve been sleeping the last couple of days,” he said. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“I thought you’ve been painting,” she said, arching a brow.
“No one told me you were a smart aleck,” he said.
“You’ve only known me three days. There’s still time.”
He laughed and she appreciated the dimple at the corner of his mouth and the sun lines around his eyes. She’d never have guessed he was a painter by looking at him. She’d always thought of artists as somewhat frail and pale. But Duncan was everything but. If she’d had to guess, she would have pegged him as some kind of outdoorsman or construction worker. He was in excellent shape—broad shouldered and slim waisted—and he obviously spent a great deal of time in the sun because he was anything but pale.
“Anyway,” he said. “I’ve been painting and thinking and doing quite a bit of wrestling where you’re concerned.”
“Me?” she asked. “What have I got to do with anything?”
“I’m getting to that,” he said. “You see, my parents always said I’d been given gifts when I was a kid. Sometimes I get a sense of things before they’re going to happen. And sometimes I have this discernment to know things about certain people. I think it’s what helps me tell great stories as an artist.”
“Okay,” Hattie said, not as shocked by this conversation as she normally would be. She was a very practical and straightforward person. Her upbringing had demanded it and her experience in business had perfected it.
“And what I finally came to the conclusion of this morning after I’d finished working, is that I’m going to have to be completely honest with you and tell you some things that most people would never say after knowing someone for three days.”
“You’re not a stalker are you?” she asked. “Or crazy? Have you ever killed anyone?”
He grinned again, but didn’t reply. “I’m going to tell you these things, but I want you to promise me something in return.”
“Look, Duncan,” she said, pushing her plate back. “I like you well enough despite first impressions, and I’m oddly attracted to you in a weird sort of way. But I have terrible taste in men, so that shouldn’t mean anything. But—”
His laughter interrupted her and he held up his hands. “That confession somehow makes this easier. Besides, I’ve already asked you once.”
She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “Asked me what?”
“I want you to sit for me for a painting,” he said. “And before you say no, I want you to hear me out.”
She was already shaking her head. She’d known he would bring it up again. And her answer was still the same.
“Duncan, I can’t,” she said.
“Because he’ll find you?” he asked softly.
The blood drained from her face, and if she hadn’t been sitting she would’ve ended up on her knees.
He reached out and took her hand. “Hey,” he whispered, gazing into her eyes. “Take a deep breath. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. You’re safe in Laurel Valley.”
Her breathing started to slow and her hand was unsteady as she removed it from his grasp and reached for her drink.
“That was the last thing you told me before you fell asleep,” he said. “You were so tired, I knew it had to be true.”
“Then you understand why I can’t let you paint me,” she said. “You’re too well known. Your paintings are all over the world.”
“I’ll make you a promise,” he said, leaning forward so their faces were closer together. It was as if they were the only two people in the restaurant. “Anything I create with your likeness will never go to the public. It’ll never be sold. And no one will ever see it but you and me.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
“Because my work isn’t about the money,” he said.
She could see the fierce passion in his eyes as he talked about his love. “I paint because I have to. Because there’s a vision or a story that has to get out of me or I’ll explode. I don’t have a choice in what I do. It’s a beautiful gift at times, and sometimes it’s a curse. But I can’t stop it. Something takes over and the need gets louder and louder until it’s screaming in my head unless I do something about it. So I paint. And the visions in my head come to life on canvas.”
She nodded. She could see it so clearly. And because she could see it, she could understand it.
“I saw a painting of yours once,” she said. “It was so beautiful. A little boy, no more than a few years old, was sitting on a stool staring at the rain through his bedroom window. It was as if I could have reached out and touched the windowpane, it was so clear, and as if I could have felt the wetness of the raindrops on my fingers. But it was one of the saddest things I’d ever seen.”
“Boy on a Stool,” he said, remembering it well. “It went to the New York gallery.”
She nodded.
“Why did you find it sad?” he asked.
“You might look at it on the surface and think he’s sad because it’s raining and he’d rather be outside playing. Or you might expand the imagination a little more and think maybe he’d been sent to his room as punishment. But there were little touches, so subtle they made my breath catch. The hem of his pajamas was frayed. There was a button missing. His feet were dirty. There was a crack in one of the windowpanes, just a sliver that was hard to see at first because it looked like a raindrop had smeared across the surface.”
She sighed and shook her head. “And then there was the smudge on his face. At least, I’d thought it a smudge at first. But then I realized it was a bruise. And there was a look of such hopelessness in his eyes I wanted to yank him right off the canvas and pull him into my arms. You’re so very talented. It’s an incredible gift you’ve been given.”
He stared at her for several seconds and then he took her hand again and squeezed it. “If that painting hadn’t sold I’d get it back for you so you could have it.”
She laughed awkwardly, but didn’t remove her hand this time. “You guys really need to stop giving stuff away.”
“O’Haras are eccentric, and we pretty much do what we want. It’s a family trait. Do you understand why I have to paint you now? If you can see what it does to me to give life to these stories, then you know I’ve got to do the same with you. I wanted to paint you the second you fell into my arms. Before I knew your name. Before I knew anything about you.”
She paused and looked at him—really looked at him—and she saw the passion and integrity for his work in his expression. She knew he was talented. She’d seen it firsthand. Critics and curators had dubbed him as the artist of the century—a rare talent who would span generations like the old masters. Hattie knew it was true. She just didn’t understand why he wanted her.
“No one will ever see them?” she asked.
