The Bull Rider's Collection (43 page)

“You like her.” Barb didn’t phrase it as a question, just a matter of fact.

He shook his head, and drained the coffee. “I don’t know her well enough to like or hate her. All I know is, she didn’t look happy to hear the news.”

Barb’s cell went off. She held up a finger walking away from the table as she answered, “Hi, Kadi.” Barb had married into a ready-made family last year, complete with a seven—now eight—year-old who loved to ride almost as much as Jesse did. The kid had a strong seat as she rode, and she’d started competing already. Soon Kadi would be barrel racing, and Barb would have to hire someone to manage the kid’s career, or give up the bull riders.

Angie stood and took Jesse’s cup to the counter.

“Just coffee, please. I don’t need to be drunk at ten in the morning,” Jesse called after her.

Angie cocked her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

When Angie and the coffee returned, Jesse took a tentative sip and smiled. Strong, hot, deep coffee, and only coffee. “Thanks, Mom.”

She patted his shoulder. “Anytime.”

Barb finished her conversation, and came over to the table. “I’ve got to go. Kadi forgot her riding gear, and her instructor is picking her up after school to practice for the competition this weekend.”

“I’ll meet you over at the gallery tomorrow.” Angie smiled. “It will be like I’ve got a real job.”

Barb and Jesse laughed.

“What?” Angie looked from one to the other.

“They won’t know what hit them.” Jesse patted her hand.

Barb said, “Just meet me there. We’ll talk about what you need to do when we meet with this Taylor girl. Remember, you’re there to protect Jesse’s interest, not make friends.” Barb swung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll call tonight after I talk to George.”

“Thanks, Barb,” Jesse called after her. She raised a hand and waved, but didn’t look back as she walked to the door.

“That girl needs to put her foot down. The kid runs both Barb and Hunter with a crook of her finger.” Angie shook her head.

“Mom, I’m not sure parenting advice is your forte.” Jesse pulled the computer closer and opened up the website for the gallery. He sighed as they paged through the site. Finally, he leaned back and looked at his mother. “Do you think I made a mistake?”

“Heavens, no. Sometimes, fate takes an active hand in our lives. Something drew you to make that decision last night. It may have been rash, but I believe that you need to be there.” She pulled out her phone. “I can get you an appointment with Angelic if you want.”

“I don’t need to go to a fortune teller.” Jesse glanced at his watch. “But I do need to get to class.” He stood and kissed his mother on the head. “You want to have dinner tonight?”

Angie nodded. “I’ll visit Angelic myself. Sometimes she can feel the energy of you boys just by reading me. She’s very powerful.”

She’s very convincing,
Jesse thought. But if it made his mother happy, what was the harm.

Two hours later, he’d finished class and was heading to the gym for a quick workout when he got the answer to that question. His mom’s number came up on his phone.

“Hey, Mom, I’m heading into the gym.”

“You can’t buy the gallery.” Her voice sounded choppy and breathless.

“Hold on, what’s wrong?” Jesse pulled the car into the gym’s parking lot and turned off the engine.

“You can’t buy the gallery. Angelic says it’s a bad time for change.”

Jesse smiled as he grabbed his workout bag. “Mom, you know I don’t believe in psychics.”

“But, Jesse, she already knew when I walked in. She was so upset. She said the same thing Barb said.”

“What’s that?” Jesse watched a tan, fit woman leave the gym. He’d gotten his share of dates from this place. Who needed bars anymore?

“A man can’t serve two masters. He will be forced to choose.”

“Look, I’m here. Can we talk about this tonight?” Jesse pulled his keys from the ignition and waited for the answer.

“She drew the death card, Jesse. If you buy the gallery, someone’s going to die.”

Taylor sat at her desk and acted like she was going over the sale records for Monday’s show. Instead, she kept playing the recurring image in her head of her dad showing Jesse Sullivan around the gallery like the papers had already been signed. After the gallery closed, she’d tried to talk to her parents, tried to get them to change their minds. Like always, they refused to listen. Her father had even patted her on the head and told her to be a good girl.

They usually discounted her feelings. When she’d wanted to take riding lessons instead of ballet, she’d been denied. Then, when she’d wanted to try out for the cheerleading squad, her mom had said no, offering instead a private gymnastics tutor. She hadn’t even been able to choose her own college. Instead, she had attended Albertsons, because it was expected of a Harrison to attend the college her great grandfather had funded in its infancy. No wonder she’d fallen for Brad so quickly; the man had let her do whatever she’d wanted. Mostly, she now knew, so he’d have more time for his own extracurricular activities.

Well, she would show them good girl. This wasn’t a teenage wish; this was her life they were messing with. She pulled out her planner and flipped through the address book until she found the number she was looking for. Then she dialed.

“Hawley Law Offices,” said a bored receptionist.

“Michael Hawley, please.” Taylor waited to be transferred and mulled the idea over in her head. This was extreme, but she had to try. For the sake of the gallery, and her own sanity, she had to try.

“Michael Hawley, speaking.” A male voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Mike, it’s Taylor DeMarco. I need a lawyer.” She told him what she wanted to do, how she needed to find a way to save her gallery.

“It’s a long shot, Taylor. I mean, your folks are both pretty high up on the power food chain. We may not even get a judge to grant us a hearing, let alone a stay of sale.”

“But you’ll try?” Taylor pleaded. The silence on the phone made her cringe as she waited for an answer. Then she heard his sigh.

“Yes, I’ll try. We’re both probably committing professional suicide here. You know that, right?”

“All I know is that I have to do everything in my power to keep control of the gallery in my family. My grandfather would roll over in his grave if he knew it was being sold.”

“You’re going to owe me big on this one, Taylor.” Mike said his goodbyes and ended the conversation.

Taylor updated her online calendar and added the meeting with Mike. While she was checking her e-mail for incoming orders, Brit came into the office and poured herself a cup of coffee. Her assistant lounged in one of the chairs in front of Taylor’s desk, her leg draped over the arm of the chair. Taylor raised an eyebrow, taking in Brit’s skinny jeans and knee-high leather boots. The girl’s dark hair was pulled back into a stark ponytail.

“Good morning. Auditioning for a Robert Palmer video today?” Taylor said.

“Don’t be mean. John’s after-closing party kept me up late. Man, he knows some wild people. You so should have come with us. We took over the top of the Hoff building after-hours. It was wicked.” Brit sipped her coffee.

“I had some business to deal with …” Taylor said. “I’ve got a meeting out of the office this afternoon, can you handle things?”

Brit eyed her. “Can’t be a nail appointment, you just got them done for the opening. Maybe a new cut? Or, are you finally going to try out that new masseuse over at Warm Springs Spa? I hear he’s hot.”

“Maybe I didn’t tell you where my appointment was because I didn’t want you to know?” Taylor smiled at her friend. Brit had joined the gallery the same summer Taylor had come to work for her grandfather. Taylor had expected to have years to learn the industry under his guidance. Instead, when he’d died last year from a stroke, she’d stepped up and started managing the gallery. And other than dealing with the mess the recession had put them in, she thought she’d been doing a pretty good job. Until last night.

“Speaking of hot guys, who was that hunk of hot with your folks last night? Everyone at the party was buzzing about him. No one knew him, so we called him your mystery date.” Brit leaned forward. “I mean, did you see his eyes? I’ve never seen that shade of blue before. And the way his tuxedo fit … Dude, I wanted to show him our back room, if you know what I mean.”

Taylor smiled. She knew exactly what Brit meant. Jesse Sullivan had turned many heads last night, and not just those of the young women. Some of the country club members had wandered over with their cocktails to meet the mysterious man. They had used their free hands to caress his muscular arms hiding under the fabric of his jacket. The man drew women in like flies. How could she compete with that? Gallery groupies would buy stock just to spend time with the new owner. She cringed as she realized how likely that was.

“Over my dead body,” she said to herself. This was her legacy. She wasn’t giving in that easy.

Brit’s eyes widened and Taylor realized she had said the words aloud.

Her assistant held up her hands in mock surrender. “All you had to say was that he’s yours. You know I don’t play in other people’s backyards.”

Taylor shook her head. “Sorry, I …” She paused. How much did she want to tell Brit? And how long did she have before the news came out, anyway? “Look, things are complicated right now.”

Brit picked up the sales paperwork that Taylor had already processed, and cradled the stack in her arms. Watching Taylor, she frowned. “I’m not judging or being nosy, but if you want to talk, you know I’m here. You look like someone ran over your dog and stole your truck.”

“In other words, I look like a real life country song?”

“Exactly.” Brit stopped at the doorway to the office. “You want me to order lunch?”

The thought of food made Taylor’s stomach lurch. “No, I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

Her office fell silent once Brit left. Taylor stared at a framed picture on her desk. It showed the day of her first gallery opening. William Harrison had his arm around her, and a smile the size of a Golden-Day Hollywood star. She had to fix this, one way or another.

• • •

Jesse sat waiting at a plastic table under a multicolored umbrella with a big beer logo painted on it. He’d agreed to meet Angie for dinner at the downtown restaurant to try to calm her down. The woman loved her psychics.

He was nursing a longneck when he saw her, the girl he couldn’t get off his mind. He’d been wrong about her hair color. What had looked like blond in the artificial light of the studio and the gallery shimmered with a touch of strawberry in the sunlight. His mouth twitched. The woman got to him. He watched her stride down the sidewalk. She was leaving one of the office buildings that mixed in with the retail and food shops lining Main Street; he knew he needed to stay away. The woman screamed danger.

Danger he’d love to unwrap. One piece of clothing at a time.

A man dashed out of the doorway she’d just vacated and jogged to catch up with her. He must have called her name, because Taylor turned and stopped, letting the man catch up. The two talked for a minute; then, he put his arm around her and they walked down the sidewalk together. It never failed—Jesse could fall faster for an unavailable, off-the-market woman than anyone in history. And he never poached.

Still, something kept him watching. Hoping for a sign that what he saw wasn’t what he thought it was. A small part of him hoped she would stomp on his foot or slap the man across the face. Then Jesse could run over and save her from the leech.

“Who are you staring at?” Angie’s voice broke his concentration. He stood, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Just people watching.” Jesse didn’t know why he lied. For some reason it felt like his mom had intruded on something extremely personal. He nodded to the bucket full of bottles on ice he’d ordered earlier. “Beer?”

Angie glanced back up the street to where Taylor and the Leech were walking into a different café with sidewalk seating. They sat down, obviously having dinner. Jesse realized Angie was no longer looking across the street, but was staring directly at him.

“Someone you know?” She nodded toward the other café.

Jesse sighed, pulling a bottle out of the bucket. He wiped off the moisture, twisted off the top, and handed it to his mother. “The woman who just sat down over there?”

“The one in the Michael Kors outfit?” Angie squinted. “Or, it could be a knock off, I can’t really tell from here.”

“The one in the blue, she’s sitting with the man in the suit.” Jesse pointed, hoping she wouldn’t notice them staring. That’d be hard to explain.

“So, who is she?” Angie took a swig from her beer bottle. “I love ice-cold beer on a hot day like today.”

“Good to know.” Jesse wondered if Angie could handle helping out at the gallery. Her thought process wasn’t quite linear. “She is my new gallery manager.”

“You mean, the one I’m meeting tomorrow?” Angie squinted, sighed, and pulled her purse to her lap. She dug around for a few seconds, coming up with a pair of red prescription glasses. She slipped them on and looked at Jesse, who stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “What? A girl has to have some secrets. My eye doctor says I have the vision of a twenty-year-old; these just help my farsightedness.”

Long seconds passed as Jesse watched his mom stare across the street at his new employee. Finally, Angie slipped off her glasses and put them back in their case, returning it to her purse. “She’s pretty.”

Freaking beautiful
, Jesse thought. He just nodded. “And from what I can tell, smart.”

“You’re taken with her, Jesse Sullivan.” She shook her finger at him when he started to rebut her statement. “A mother always knows. I knew it the first time I saw James and Lizzie look at each other. Love, it’s hard to hide.”

“James and Lizzie were always that way. Even back in high school, I used to rib him about being her puppy dog. But the guy had it bad. I shouldn’t have made him come on tour with me.”

Angie laid her hand on his forearm. “No use crying over spilled sangria. Things happen in life. You didn’t make your brother do anything.”