Lover's Lane (4 page)

5

CARLY ALWAYS FOUND THE COVE GALLERY A TRANQUIL RETREAT, especially when traffic was slow and she had the place to herself, like tonight. The cool, austere interior of the gallery was a welcome change from the constant bustle and mingled scents of the diner, like slipping on a warm, comfortable new sweater that fit just right.

Outside the night air was cool and damp but lacked the biting chill of winter. The darkness beyond the wide, uncluttered front windows was comforting. Bathed in the bright light inside the gallery, she felt isolated and alone but not lonely, as if cocooned by the night.

Geoff wanted the lights he’d installed to make the place stand out like a beacon amid the other shops on the street, an art show for locals driving by, as well as an enticement to anyone out strolling.

An artist from Chicago with eclectic tastes and a biting sense of humor, Geoff had begun to eat at the diner nearly every day when he moved to town three years ago.

He saw Selma’s Plaza Diner as more than just a local greasy spoon with worn Formica tables and decades-old turquoise, black, and white decor, and he quickly dubbed the place retro, spending hours there before he opened the gallery.

He started sharing his plans with Carly when she showed a genuine interest in his ideas. Geoff Wilson’s enthusiasm matched his devotion to art. Familiarizing himself with popular California artists, he pored over design books and other gallery brochures for hours. While Carly refilled his coffee, he coaxed her into sharing her own ideas on style and design.

Whenever the diner was slow, she would sit and chat with him on her break. One day she finally confided in him that she once “dabbled” in art but never admitted to what extent.

She felt safe in establishing a friendship with a man from the other side of the country who had no idea who she was and definitely no interest in her in a sexual way. Their friendship had given her life a boost and allowed her to become part of something she loved and missed.

It was Geoff who had encouraged her to paint again when he showed up one day with a canvas and bag of art supplies and told her to get busy.

Tonight he had left a CD of soft, slow jazz playing. The soothing music filled the room, wrapped around her senses as gently as the night outside hugged the building. It was the kind of night that made her wish she had someone to go home to, made her feel that maybe Joe was right. Sometimes a woman needed more than her kids, needed to feel like a woman and not just a mom.

Carly relaxed on a high barstool behind the counter, leafing through the latest copy of
Architectural Digest
Geoff left out.

A few couples strolled in while walking off dinner, locals she greeted warmly even though they probably had no intention of actually buying anything. They appreciated seeing the new pieces Geoff had acquired, so she let them browse and dream of the day they might somehow be able to invest in a pricey piece of art.

The place was empty again when she smiled over a sticky note tucked into the magazine. In bold marker script Geoff had written, “FABULOUS. FIND FABRIC.” He’d even highlighted a headboard upholstered in faux leopard.

She was about to add her opinion on a Post-it and leave it for him to find when the chime over the door signaled another arrival. She set the magazine down, looked up and realized with a jolt that she was staring into the eyes of the very same man she had noticed at Sweetie’s that afternoon.

Her heart tripped and then, as it slowly rocked back into place, she chided herself for being ridiculous.

The way he was looking at her made her unconsciously press her palm against the scooped neckline of her wine-colored jersey dress. When she realized her fingers were trembling she dropped her hand and clasped it tight in the other.

She remembered to smile as he walked from the doorway toward Geoff’s high, granite sales counter. An embarrassing flush suffused her cheeks as his gaze slowly traveled over her face, down her body and snapped back to her eyes. The distance between them was eaten up by his long, slow stride. He walked like a man who never rushed, but moved with a purpose and a plan. A man on a mission.

His face was tan, with strong features evenly placed. His hair was dark and wavy. Up close, she saw that his eyes were the rich midnight blue of lapis, a color that called to mind ancient jewelry from faraway places with exotic names.

Gone were the casual jeans he’d worn earlier. Tonight he had on pressed khaki slacks and a long-sleeved black sweater shirt that fit him like a glove. His shoulders were wide, his abdomen flat. He was well over six feet tall.

Noticing that he had to be aware of her gaze sliding over him from head to toe, she swallowed, forced herself to meet his eyes. She found them so clear and intense that she was almost convinced that if she looked hard enough she could see the secrets and shadows of his soul.

The truth hit her hard when she realized that she hadn’t been this attracted to a man since she had met Christopher’s father. Rick Saunders was just as handsome, but he’d been fair with blond hair and blue eyes. Sure of himself and so very charming that he’d swept her off her feet with his first hello. After that it hadn’t mattered that what they had between them was only temporary, that they had come from two different worlds or that he would be leaving Borrego in a month.

By now the stranger had reached the desk. His eyes appeared not only deep blue, but also guileless. Everyone had something to hide.

He smiled a slow, easy smile as he held out his hand. She took it automatically and almost closed her eyes. She had expected nothing more than a casual handshake, but the moment her flesh touched his, something akin to lightning jolted her. She nearly jerked her hand away and looked up in shock, but apparently, he hadn’t been affected at all.

His touch was warm, reassuring until he said, “Carly Nolan? I’m Jake Montgomery.”

The moment he said her name, her radar sounded and she went cold as ice. Shaken, she couldn’t pull her hand away or even move.

She swallowed and then asked, “Do I know you?”

“We’ve never met but I was in earlier and spoke to Geoff. He told me you’d be working tonight. I’m interested in seeing anything you might have done that’s comparable to the painting of the sunset over the cove that was pictured in the
Budget Traveler
article.”

Slowly, what he said registered. She relaxed, her heart settled down, but she still couldn’t respond. He nodded toward the counter.

“There’s a Post-it note with my name on it back there. Underneath, by the phone.”

She glanced down and sure enough, there it was. Geoff must have been so excited about his intimate soiree that he had forgotten to mention it earlier.

While Jake Montgomery’s expression showed nothing more than casual interest, she fought to recover her composure.

“Perhaps I can show you something else,” she offered lamely. “We . . . have lots of talented artists on display right now. Once the season starts, things begin to move quickly, and choices become more limited.”

“Geoff showed me around a bit earlier, but I’m afraid I had my heart set on one of your sunset seascapes. No one else adds those transparent figures from the past, do they?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How did you learn the technique?”

“A friend taught me to paint, but the ghostly images started out as an accident. I didn’t know what I was doing when I first used thinned down white paint, but I liked the effect.”

For months Geoff had been encouraging her to produce faster, warning her that come summer she would wish she had more pieces to offer. Money was always tight, and on top of rent and utilities, the old, battered Ford station wagon Etta Schwartz had permanently loaned her was going to need a new alternator.

Carly wished she had a sunset piece she could pull out of a hat.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any to show you except the piece that’s already here.” She tried not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

He never took his eyes off her face. “How long have you been painting?”

She paused, glanced at his hands. No wedding ring, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married. She tried to avoid his stare, willing herself not to blush. “Not long.”

“Your work is quite accomplished for a novice.”

She felt herself blush again. “Thank you. Where are you from, Mr. Montgomery?” Uncomfortable with his praise, she attempted to turn the conversation.

“The L.A. area. How about you? Were you born here in Twilight Cove?”

Effortlessly he’d turned the tables back. She hesitated and began straightening the bio cards in the nubby, hand-woven basket on Geoff’s desk.

“No. I’ve only lived here a few years.” She sensed his nearness as if he were standing right next to her instead of across the counter, and she turned to fidgeting with the maps beside the cards.

Damn it, Carly, just stand still and smile. Better yet, show
him some other paintings. Interest him in a nice, expensive
sculpture or something, and make a sale.

It had been centuries since talking to a handsome man had rendered her brain dead, but it almost seemed as if they had some kind of a connection, as if she already knew him. But that was impossible. She found herself wanting to know everything there was to know about him and more, wanted him to linger so that she could spend more time with him.

As an awkward silence stretched, she continued to fidget while he seemed perfectly content to stand and stare.

She hoped it would be a while before Geoff was due in to close up and she glanced down at her watch, a utilitarian waterproof piece with a black polyurethane band. Rand had assured her it was the very latest and yet least expensive of all the rad surf wear timepieces. She had never been the least worried about style. She bought it for its ability to keep good time and for its durability.

Jake Montgomery shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the center of the room to get a closer look at a bronze sculpture.

Carly smiled and waited, and in a moment he quickly stepped back from the piece. Most people did, the minute they realized the free-form nude was complete with both female breasts and a penis.

“Interesting.” He shook his head. “Not very practical, though.” He pointed to the erect penis. “Unless you could use that for a coat hook.”

She bit her lips to keep from laughing. “How long will you be in town?”

“I’m not sure. I inquired about a long-term rental today. I guess it will depend on what Glenn Potter shows me tomorrow. I haven’t really decided how often I can get away from my business down in the L.A. area.”

His mention of the Potters put her somewhat at ease, at least until a slow, uneven smile lit his face and her heart skipped a beat. She cleared her throat, tried to keep her tone light and even, to find out about him without seeming pushy.

“What kind of business are you in?”

He shifted his stance before he said, “Consulting. I’m growing a client list. Started my own business a few years ago.”

“Have you walked down to the cove yet?”

“No, but I saw it from the scenic pullout at the south end of town.”

“That’s one of my favorite views.”

They wandered around the gallery and although he pointed out another painting that he said ran more to his sister’s taste, he made no mention of a wife.

Despite the fact that he was a stranger and maybe too charming to be true, Carly found herself settling into an easy exchange of conversation, lured by a growing fascination in Jake Montgomery as much as the honesty in his eyes.

The whole time they talked, Carly remained wary of nurturing her fascination. Getting close to someone meant forging bonds, opening your heart and soul. Secrets could seep out of the cracks of the most carefully constructed fortresses, no matter how securely they had been sealed.

Standing beside Carly, Jake was reminded again of how the old photograph he had always carried hadn’t come close to capturing her true essence.

Now, in person, he found her softer, more vulnerable than he ever imagined. Her aura of innocence was so seductive that whenever he looked into her eyes, a gentle warmth suffused him, one akin to summer sunlight, warm spring rains. It was almost impossible to remember that she had been cunning enough to elude the best investigative firm in Southern California, that she was on the run because she no doubt had something to hide. Innocent people didn’t run.

Her trail had gone cold six years ago.

He mentioned his sister, Julie, trying to make himself more human, to put her at ease. Mesmerized, he studied Carly’s graceful movements, listened to the lilting sound of her voice as she complimented other local artists on display and the merits of their work. He stared as long as he dared—snatches of too-short heartbeats—into her unusual light-green eyes. They were the same fleeting, backlit color of the crest of a wave just before it curled.

She looked younger than twenty-nine. Her hands were smooth, her fingers long and tapered. Her nails evenly trimmed and bare of polish. The dress she had chosen was classic yet plain, a long-sleeved knit that looked soft as an old T-shirt. Her silky hair fell free and golden around her shoulders, tempting him to touch. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of tiny silver shells in her pierced ears.

By the time they completed a tour of the gallery, he knew he should leave, but he was half afraid that if he took his eyes off of her, she would disappear.

They stood awkwardly in the center of the expansive space while the soothing sounds of a jazz saxophone filled the air. Outside a thin layer of fog had wandered up the cliffs from the ocean to bathe the streets in a soft cloud of mist.

“I’ll tell Geoff that you stopped by again,” she offered.

“Thanks. Maybe he’ll persuade you to finish a sunset seascape for me.”

There was only a hint of a smile on her lips now, but she was far more relaxed than when he first walked in.

Jake told her good-bye, turned to go and actually made it a few steps before he was compelled to turn around, to look back.