The Bull Rider's Collection (53 page)

She sat at her desk for an hour, thinking about her next steps. She didn’t want anyone leading her one way or the other. She could call her folks, but they were definitely in Camp Jesse. Mike, well, he wasn’t the best person to bounce ideas off. And Brit, she was too close to the gallery to give her unbiased opinion. When had her life become all about the gallery? All about work?

A soft knock on the door broke Taylor out of her musing. Angie stood in the doorway, dressed in what must be a conservative outfit for her. She had on a bright purple suit. Under the suit, a creamy-white silk tank peeked out from behind a pile of gold jewelry. Even with Angie’s caking layers of makeup, her skin looked pale and the woman seemed tired.

“Hey, come on in. Brit told me you were sick this weekend. Maybe you should have stayed home another day?” Taylor stood as Angie stomped in on platform leopard heels. Angie sunk into one of the chairs and leaned forward.

“I needed to come in. I can’t just stay at home; I’ll make myself crazy.” Angie studied Taylor’s face. “How was Wyoming?”

“Did you hear from Barb or Jesse?” Taylor waited for Angie’s reaction.

Her eyebrows rose. “Both. Does that surprise you? We’re kind of a close-knit bunch.”

Taylor pulled out a bag of salt and vinegar chips she’d stashed in her desk drawer and tore it open. After pulling a handful out and setting them on a napkin, she offered the bag to Angie. When the woman grimaced and shook her head, Taylor frowned. “Seriously, maybe you
should
have stayed home another day. There’s a flu bug going around.”

Angie sighed and leaned back into the chair. “Give an old woman a break. I’m not stupid enough to come in if I were contagious or vomiting all over everything. I’m just dealing with some bad news. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Taylor folded down the seal on the chip bag and put it away in the drawer. She wasn’t fooling herself. The way she felt, the bag would be gone by closing. At least, if it was out of sight, she’d have to burn the few calories it took to drag it out of the drawer each time she got the craving. “I didn’t say you were going to infect everyone.”

“It was in your tone. Believe me, what I have isn’t catching.” Angie glanced around the office. “You don’t believe in decorating much, do you?”

Taylor pressed her lips together and ate another chip before she answered. “I believe it’s called minimalism.”

“I think it’s because you can’t make up your mind. Have you ever claimed a spot as your own? This feels more like a man’s office.”

Taylor glanced around the office she’d inherited from her grandfather. Leather chairs, a large wooden desk, bookshelves filled with art books, and a worn, but usable, leather couch. “My grandfather must have decorated the room.” She paused, seeing the furniture through new eyes. “I never even considered changing it.”

“A woman steeped in tradition. No wonder Jesse’s fallen for you. That boy always did want the Norman Rockwell kind of life.”

“Jesse hasn’t fallen for me,” Taylor protested, but even as the words came out of her mouth, she knew they weren’t true. It was too much. His love, his expectations. Even his trust in her, when all she was trying to do was keep him from buying the gallery.

“A mother knows.” Angie tapped her blue-rimmed nails on the seat of the chair.

“Look, I’m not comfortable talking about my relationship, or my non-relationship, with your son. Did you want something?” Taylor opened the drawer and dumped out another handful of chips.
Stress-eat much?

Angie seemed to squirm in her chair. “Actually, I need to tell you something. But you can’t tell anyone. As my employer, I can hold you to that promise. No Barb. No Jesse. No one outside this office.”

“I thought you were a close-knit bunch?” Taylor asked. She felt bad when her words reflected on Angie’s face like the outline of a handprint after a hard slap. “Sorry, I’m being a bitch. Of course, you can tell me anything. And as long as it’s not illegal, I promise, I won’t tell anyone else.”

Angie looked around the room again. “I would have liked your grandfather. I decorated my first house with the boys’ dad a lot like this. Lots of wood and leather. Very masculine and country.”

Taylor smiled as she followed Angie’s gaze around the room. “He was an awesome man. Generous, giving, and he had the best laugh. I loved spending time here at the gallery with him when I was a little girl. He explained the pictures to me, then, after a while, he had me explain the pictures to him.” Taylor laughed. “He was probably training me how to understand art, even as a child. Nevertheless, he said the gallery knew when someone loved it.”

Angie nodded, the look in her eyes distant. “My grandfather worked on a farm in South Dakota. Dry farming. Praying for just the right amount of rain each year. Gone from sunup to sundown, only coming in to eat dinner at noon, then back out to the fields.” Angie smiled at the memory. “He loved us grandkids. When we stayed with him in the summer, he would take my brother and me swimming on Saturdays down in the creek, where the water pooled under a big oak.”

A small beep came through the laptop speakers announcing a new e-mail.

“Do you need to get that?” Angie sat forward in her chair. She looked like a rabbit poised to flee at any frightening movement.

“It can wait.” Taylor threw away the oil spotted napkin and focused on Angie. “I know you didn’t come in to tell me I needed to redecorate. What’s going on?”

Angie studied her, and for a minute, Taylor thought she might just bolt.
Please, don’t let this be about Jesse
, she prayed silently. She wasn’t sure she could be strong enough to hold her feelings back right now. Mike had the financing in place, and she’d be at least a partial owner of Main Street Gallery in a few weeks. All she had to do was keep Jesse from finding out. She owed it to her grandfather to keep the gallery in the family. He’d always called it the family legacy. If her parents weren’t going to honor the man, she would.

Taylor watched as Angie pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. The minutes stretched as the silence grew. Finally, Angie pulled her shoulders straight, sat up, and looked directly at Taylor.

When she spoke, the words stunned Taylor. “I have breast cancer.”

Angie sat in the leather chair not looking at Taylor. “You can’t tell the boys. I’m fine. Just a few procedures, tests, then I’ll be back to normal.”

Taylor felt like she’d been punched in the gut. “Angie, it’s not like you need a dental cleaning. Cancer is serious. Jesse needs to know—family can help.”

“You don’t understand. I wasn’t there for them when they were growing up. Not when James broke his arm or when Jesse got measles. Why should I ask them to sit with me?” Angie twirled her hair in her fingers. “I hope I don’t lose my hair. I’ve heard that some people don’t.”

“They make great wigs now.” Taylor reached for something positive to say.

Angie smiled. “I’ve always wanted to be a redhead. Maybe I’ll try it out for a while.” She stared out the window for a long time. “I’ll need a few weeks after my surgery, then chemo days off. Other than that, I can work around the appointments. Sometimes, I might have to switch up my hours. Can you work around that?”

“Of course we can. But do you think you want to work?” Taylor thought about the next few weeks. “We typically close for a couple weeks in July to reset for the year. We could move that up to match your surgery schedule. That way you won’t miss too much time.”

Angie smiled. “Whatever you want. I’ll have a date soon. I’m serious about the boys. If we can keep this just between us, I’d appreciate it.”

Taylor stood and walked around the desk, sitting in the chair next to Angie. “I’ll respect your wishes, but just know, if you need anything, I’m here.”

She patted Taylor’s hand. “You’re sweet, but I’ve always been independent. I got through most of my life alone; I can do this better by myself. I don’t want to worry about how the boys are feeling, or what my new boss thinks about my hairstyle.”

Taylor stayed in the chair for a while after Angie left. One more reason to call this thing with Jesse off. She’d never be able to keep a secret this big from someone she loved. Slept with, she amended. Not love; not yet.

Keep telling yourself that.

• • •

Jesse stood in his studio. He’d rented the place a year ago in order to keep his artwork a secret from his brother and Angie. Of course, James hardly ever came down to the Boise ranch, preferring to spend his time in Shawnee at the hot springs with Lizzie. Jesse could have set up a place in the barn, the loft, or even the back shed. Still he wanted a place to call his own.

Eventually, he had to buy a place. Just, not yet. With this deal on the art gallery almost complete, Jesse felt like he’d taken enough risk for now. Besides, the light came into his studio first thing in the morning. The suite was on one of the top floors of an old warehouse overlooking the Boise River. He had a small balcony where he could sit and watch people walk and bike down the greenbelt. He spent a lot of time sitting on the balcony when his head was too full to paint.

Like today.

All he could think of was the way Taylor had looked that night, staring into his eyes as they’d made love. Like she couldn’t believe he was there. Hell, he couldn’t believe they were together. When he’d woken up and rolled over, he’d found her side of the bed empty. Even now, he could feel the pain of that moment. Obviously, she’d wanted to walk on the wild side.

He’d known girls like her before. They’d step out of their real life of dating business moguls, lawyers, and doctors to try a rodeo rider, a bad boy. He’d been her mistake. And she’d run as fast and as far as she could once she’d woken.

He hadn’t been able to reach her for days. Today, he’d called the gallery and talked to his mom. She’d mentioned Taylor was in the office with her attorney. She was probably trying to find some way to keep him from buying the place.

He finished his beer and went back inside, picking up a paintbrush. He didn’t work on the portrait of Taylor. Instead, he focused on a landscape—a place that wasn’t anywhere except inside his head. A place he dreamed of finding someday.

The house he painted had a window with light shining through the pane, welcoming family and strangers alike. He painted the imaginary home he’d always wanted, yet never had.

His phone buzzed. Clicking his Bluetooth, he answered, “Talk to me.”

“Is that any way to answer your phone?” Angie chided. “Where are you?”

“Where am I supposed to be?” He set the paintbrush into a jar of paint thinner. He was done. He studied the house he’d been painting. Taylor would love living there. Too bad it was as imaginary as their relationship.

“I was hoping you were home. I need some company tonight. I thought we might try out that new barbeque place out in Meridian.” Angie sounded disappointed. “After I couldn’t get settled at my apartment, I drove up here to get you.”

“I’m not there.” He pulled off his painting tank top and put his T-shirt back on.

She sighed. “Still in Wyoming, huh? I thought you sounded closer when I talked to you this afternoon. Maybe later this week?”

Jesse chuckled. “I’m not in Wyoming, I’m just not out at the ranch. Come into town and meet me at the Alibi. I’ll be the one sitting at the bar drinking beer until you get there.”

“And I’ll be the designated driver,” Angie teased. “Of course, with you, I usually am.”

“Not true.” He glanced around the studio; the afternoon light slipped over the floor and made its way toward the sliding glass doors to dump into the river.

“Sometimes it’s true.” Jesse heard Angie start up her car. “I’ll see you in fifteen.”

“Twenty, more likely.” Jesse grabbed his keys out of his jeans pocket. “Love you, Mom.”

He heard her slight intake of breath before she responded. “Love you, too.”

He jogged down the stairs to the parking lot and out to his truck. He was ten minutes away from Alibi. He needed to get there first and chug down most of a beer so Angie wouldn’t question where he’d really been when she’d called.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know his secret. She’d picked him up at class before. But he didn’t think she realized how much time he really committed to learning the craft. Buying the gallery wasn’t a whim like James believed. He felt called to the art world as much as he felt called to bull riding. It just felt right.

• • •

“Ready for another?” Tina, the evening bartender, leaned over the counter. She gave him a good look at her cleavage and the leopard-print bra that held in her girls. He’d gone there before, trying to ease the loneliness he’d felt over the years. Now he knew it would just be a distraction. The only woman he wanted was Taylor. And she saw him as a play toy. Karma sure had a funny way of slapping you across the face.

“Might as well. Angie’s on her way to get me, and you know how that goes. She might get distracted, and I’ll be here all night waiting.” Jesse turned on a 100-watt smile he didn’t feel. He glanced around the nearly empty bar. “Slow night?”

Tina grabbed a bottle out of the cooler and flipped the top off, setting it in front of him with a clunk. “Tuesdays are dead lately. The computer plant up the street is talking about layoffs, so people are staying home. Of course, once they find out if they’re on the chopping block, they’ll be back in, either way. People don’t like uncertainty.”

“I understand. I’m kind of in a period of change, myself.” Jesse twisted the bottle around, peeling off a corner of the label. “I can handle almost anything. But when I know something’s happening, and I don’t know what it is, it’s maddening.”

Tina frowned and scooted her stool over near him. “You got troubles, Jesse? You always seem so put together, so successful. Hell, you’re the poster child for sanity in this place.”

“Sad statement on your patrons.” Angie stood in the doorway, bright sunshine filling the bar for a moment and framing her body.

Jesse smiled; his mother knew how to make an entrance. He knew she felt conflicted, claiming her status as mom of her boys after so many years away. Deep down, Angie was still a Las Vegas-style diva. But she definitely had a heart of gold. Cliché or not. “Hey, Mom. Want one before we go?”