Dare to Dream (8 page)

Chapter 16

A
s he’d promised, Lincoln took her to all the shops, where she was compelled to purchase a denim skirt with fringes, a funky leather motorcycle jacket, a tie-dyed shirt, and a bracelet and choker set of sterling silver.

“You have quite a haul,” Lincoln joked, toting her purchases to the truck.

Desiree giggled. “You got me out of there just in time. I had my eye on that raccoon collar.”

Lincoln groaned. “Timing is key,” he said.

“Where to now?”

“Well, the art gallery is just around that bend.”

Her stomach twirled. Art gallery. “Uh…”

He put his hand on her shoulder and looked down into her eyes. “We don’t have to go, Desi, if it makes you uncomfortable. I just thought—”

“No, it’s okay,” she said, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. If her goal was to come here to get her act and her head together, this had to be part of the treatment program. “It’s fine, really. I need to see what others are doing.”

“Okay, then let’s go.”

* * *

When Desiree stepped inside the doors of the Grenning Gallery, she immediately thought she would feel overwhelmed or panicked. But she wasn’t. Instead, a sort of calm flowed through her as if she’d finally stepped out of an unfamiliar world into a new one.

She drifted away from Lincoln and began examining the small clay sculptures that sat on round wood tables, the handcrafted jewelry tucked away behind glass cases and the paintings on the wall that varied from traditional water and mountain scenes to the totally abstract.

The gallery wasn’t large by any means, but it offered a wide array of selections for tastes on a variety of levels.

Lincoln stood to the side and watched her as she went from one station to another, examining the hangings and checking out the artists’ names. He could almost hear her making astute observations about each one. He smiled as he saw her come to life, the animation and light was back in her eyes. He’d been reluctant to bring her, but in his gut he believed this was the best medicine. The only way to beat your fears is to face them. That’s what his father always told him before he died, and those were words he lived by.

Desiree turned in Lincoln’s direction, a broad smile on her face. She rushed over to him, and before he knew what happened, she’d wrapped him in her arms.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his chest. “Thank you so much.”

He felt her shudder and he eased her back to look into her eyes. Tears glistened on her lashes. “Are you okay?”

She bobbed her head. “Yes,” she uttered on a strangled breath. “A part of me died that night. At least I thought it did. I’d felt so lost and frightened all the time that I wanted to stay as far away as possible from the thing that I loved.” She looked up at him. “But I’m finally beginning to realize that I have nothing to fear, Lincoln.” Her eyes slowly rolled over his face. “Nothing. Not my art…not you.”

His stomach knotted. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes, I do.” She stepped a bit closer. “Kiss me, Lincoln. Right here, right now,” she said in an almost urgent whisper.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “With pleasure.”

Slowly he lowered his head until his lips touched hers, once, twice, until he captured her mouth. Time shifted as she opened her mouth to receive the exploration of his tongue. A soft moan rose from her center and entered his.

He thought kissing her again would be the same, that the same raw emotions would overwhelm him. But that was not the case. This was new, different, even more powerful than before. It stunned him with its intensity and the rumbling of emotions that shifted from his head to his heart to his loins. He loved her. He knew that. More than ever, and he would do whatever he must in order to have her back in his life—fully.

Desiree’s head spun and a warmth like that of being under the summer sun swelled through her. She held on, fearing that the sudden weakness in her knees would soon have her in a heap on the floor. It didn’t matter where they were or who saw them, she thought through a haze. All that mattered was the here and now, connecting with Lincoln again. Feeling him, experiencing him again. To hell with the promises they’d made about strings and commitments. She wanted him and she would battle her demons in order to have him.

Giggling from behind them slowly drew them apart. Desiree looked over her shoulder to see a little boy, about six years old, pointing at them to a teenaged girl who looked to be his older sister.

“You have to excuse my little brother,” the girl said. “He thinks everything is funny.” She tugged him by the arm and they walked away.

Desiree ducked her head and laughed, then looked up at Lincoln. “I guess we did cause a bit of a stir.”

“I’m willing to go for round two and see who else we can stir up,” Lincoln said with a spark of mischief in his dark brown eyes.

She tapped his arm, then slid hers under it. “Come on. I think we’ve done enough for today.”

They had started out when Desiree stopped short.

“Ms. McKay?” Desiree asked, recognizing the woman from her shop.

For a moment the woman looked flustered. “Do I know you?” She gave Desiree a cautious smile.

“We met a few weeks ago. You came into my shop to pick up a gift for your daughter.”

The woman frowned in confusion. “I think you have me mixed up with someone else. Sorry.” She walked away.

Desiree followed her with her eyes as the woman exited the gallery and headed for a navy blue Lexus.

“Who was that?” Lincoln asked.

Desiree was silent as she watched the car drive off.

“Desi? Are you okay? Who was that?”

She briskly shook her head and looked at Lincoln. “Sorry. I thought it was someone I’d met at my gallery. But I guess I was wrong,” she said slowly.

Lincoln put his arm around her shoulder. “Hey, you know how they say we all look alike.”

Desiree chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She dismissed the episode and turned to Lincoln. “So…where to now?”

He put his arm around her waist. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. There’s a great little outdoor café about a block away.”

“I’m already there.”

They walked out of the gallery and headed down the strip talking about their day so far, and Desiree gave Lincoln her blow-by-blow impressions of the paintings she’d seen.

“Tomorrow, if you’re up for it, we’ll visit the Whale Museum. Sorry we couldn’t get to it today…but since you spent so much time shopping…”

She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Watch it, buddy.”

“What did I say?” he moaned, pleading innocence.

“I heard that shopping barb. There was a distinct undertone to your voice that bordered on cynical.”

“Me! Cynical about you shopping? I’m wounded.”

“You will be if you don’t watch it,” she playfully warned. “Now, feed me!”

He tossed his head back and laughed, truly happy inside and out. He bowed as he opened the restaurant door. “After you, my love.”

Desiree’s heart stuttered in her chest. She looked at him and their gazes locked for a hot second with the longing evident in both their eyes.

“I said it and I meant it,” he said, his voice low and very convincing.

Desiree took a breath, hesitated, then stepped inside. If this was what a day together was like, she thought, her mind racing, what would a long, lazy night bring?

Chapter 17

“Y
ou wouldn’t be the first building owner to work things out to get the insurance money,” Richard Wells, the insurance adjuster, said, making some notes on a pad.

“I’m sure you’re joking. So I’ll take it as such. If you knew your business as well as you claim, Mr. Wells, you would know that I don’t need the insurance money. That’s for slum lords.”

Mr. Wells looked up from his notes. “You’d be surprised,” he said smugly.

Carl chose to ignore him. He had more important things on his mind. He had yet to hear from Desiree. And the fire marshal had called back to say that the investigators would be going back over the debris in the morning. He couldn’t hold everyone off forever.

“Until we get the final paperwork from the fire department, I’m afraid we can’t pay off on the claim, Mr. Hampton.”

“I’m sure that everything is in order. It was an accident.”

“We’ll wait for the report.” He gathered his papers and stuck them in a cheap, fake-leather portfolio. “I’ll be in touch.” He stood and left the office.

Carl sat for several moments. That did not go well, he thought. And he had yet to meet with his investors. He checked his watch. He had an hour.

* * *

Rachel paced the floor of her apartment. She’d left her office several hours earlier in the hope that she would hear from Desiree. Periodically she picked up the phone to check and make sure it was actually working.

Why hadn’t she called? The whole notion that someone deliberately set the fire chilled her to the bone. Who could want to hurt Desiree that badly? She could have been killed. Desiree had no enemies that she could think of. Everyone who met her liked her.

Could it be yet another ploy by Carl to bind Desiree to him for real? The idea began to take shape in her head. Carl Hampton was a control freak, and whether Desiree realized it or not, Carl wanted more from her than her paintings.

What man would buy a loft and gallery space and give it to someone simply to get them to paint if he wasn’t looking for something in return? No one. But would he go so far as to set fire to the place? Why? To teach Desiree a lesson?

Rachel continued to pace and slowly shook her head.
Why won’t she call?

* * *

“Thanks for a wonderful day,” Desiree said as they pulled to a stop in front of her cabin.

“I’m glad you decided to join me.” He hesitated. “I…uh…have something for you.” He walked around to the back of the truck, opened the hood and pulled out an easel, several canvases and a plastic shopping bag of paints and brushes.

“Lincoln…what is all this?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“I thought that if you were suddenly inspired…”

Slowly she walked toward him and looked everything over. She ran her hand across the easel and suddenly her heart thumped as recognition took hold.

Her gaze jerked toward him. “This…this is my easel. Where—”

“I never got rid of it,” he said quietly. “You left it in the back of the closet in our old apartment. I kept it.”

“All these years?” she asked in awe.

He nodded.

Her eyes filled. “But why?”

“It was all I had left of you, Desi. And now that I’ve found you again, I think it belongs with its rightful owner.”

Without thinking, she pressed her body flush against his and wrapped her arms around him. She struggled to speak over the lump in her throat.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered against his chest.

He stroked her hair, then her back. “Just say that you’ll try to paint again. Even if all you do is throw some colors against the canvas.”

She laughed, then eased back and looked up at him.

With the pads of his thumbs he brushed away the tears from her cheeks. “Will you?”

She swallowed. “I’ll try.”

He caressed her cheek. “That’s all anyone can do is give it their best shot.”

“Can you help me take these inside?”

“My pleasure.”

“I think I’ll put the easel by the sliding doors. Great light comes in during the early morning.”

Lincoln smiled and did as instructed. “What about the paints and the canvases?”

“Hmm.” She walked toward the closet and pulled it open. “The paints can go on the floor.” She turned and scanned the room, then pointed to the wall next to the dresser. “The canvases can go over there.”

She put her hands on her hips and stood in the center of the room while Lincoln placed the canvases against the wall.

“Anything else, Sarge?” he asked, giving her a mock salute.

She pursed her lips. “Very funny.”

“This is the Desiree that I remember,” he said, leaning casually against the wall unit. “Excited, smiling, giving off that energy like no one else can.”

“I have you to thank for that.”

He shook his head in denial. “I only offered you the tools. The rest is up to you.”

She took a seat on the side of the bed. “I know.” She sighed deeply. “Why did you really keep the easel, Linc?”

He slung his hands in his pockets and looked directly into her questioning eyes. “After you left, I was a mess. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, I drank too much. All I wanted to do was find a way to make things right between us again. But I couldn’t. You wouldn’t let me.”

“Lincoln—”

“Finally I decided that I couldn’t live in the same place we shared any longer. And maybe in a new place, with a fresh start, I could forget all about you.” He clenched his jaw as the old wounds painfully reopened. “I was packing up a couple of days before the movers were set to come and I was pulling stuff out of that hall closet where we tossed all the things we couldn’t figure out what to do with.”

They laughed absently at the memory.

“And there in the back of the closet was the easel. The first one you ever bought. When I saw it sitting there, everything came rushing back. All those mornings when I would wake up and you were sitting in that raggedy sweatshirt with the paint stains in front of the window with the most intense expression on your face while you painted. And when you would hear me stir you’d turn toward me and the smile and the light that sparkled in your eyes would fill me up.”

For a moment he looked away and then back at her.

“I took the easel out of the closet and suddenly you were back with me again. At least a part of you.” He gave a short laugh. “I know I must sound like a fool telling you all this, hanging on to an inanimate object like some kind of trophy, but it gave me what I needed to move on with my life. When I would see you sitting there in the morning, it was a symbol of possibility. And having that part of you allowed me to feel that again. That’s why I kept it, and that’s why I want you to have it.”

Desiree covered her face with her hands and wept.

“Desi.” Lincoln sat beside her and gathered her in his arms. “Don’t cry, babe. I didn’t tell you all that to upset you.”

“I’ve been so damned selfish and self-centered,” she uttered between her sobs. “I wouldn’t allow myself to think about how what I’d done made you feel, what it was doing to you. It was easier to run.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s the past. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No,” she said, her voice cracking. “I need to hear it. I need to understand it.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “It was so unfair to you.” She looked at him through tear-filled eyes. “How can I ever make it right?”

“You can start by changing clothes and getting ready for our dinner date at B. Smith’s.” He smiled gently at her and her heart seemed to shift in her chest.

She nodded her head and grinned, then wiped away the last of her tears. “All this for a dinner date?” She sniffed. “Will you stop at nothing?”

He shrugged and gave her a boyish grin. “Can’t blame a man for tryin’. But you know what, Ms. Armstrong?” He pulled her to her feet. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”