As she painted, her brush moved across the canvas in strokes that fascinated him. The painting depicted clouds of smoke and dust, the hint of a tornado, a distant threat at the edge of the canvas. Intrigued by her use of color, he felt as if he was getting a glimpse into her heart. Complicated, tightly leashed, a storm brewing but waiting, not yet ready to show its full fury.
Trey stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, remembering the concentration on her face. She wasn't ready yet to let him into her life, but somehow, he had to reach her, for her sake as well as his own. He intended to help her unleash the storm inside so the dust could finally settle. He just didn't know how.
#
Sacha settled on the office couch and lifted her book. She had painted all night and day, until the painting was finished. She was exhausted. She just needed to relax a little, unwind from the tension inside. At half past ten, the house was quiet around her, the only sound the light rainfall on the verandah roof outside the window.
Katharine walked into the room, his voice in her head. "Don't be afraid."
Although the room was bare, something about it frightened her. She looked behind her, feeling as if she were being followed, but no one was there.
A door appeared in front of her. She had to open the door so she reached forward, but her hand only found empty space. There was no doorknob.
Katharine pounded on the door, her fists as if in slow motion. Her palms began to bleed, leaving stains on the white-painted wood. "Damn it, Brian, let me out."
The room shrank to a closet. She heard his laughter on the other side.
Angry, Katharine continued hammering the door until suddenly it collapsed outward and broke into a thousand tiny fragments...
Sacha awoke with a start, jerking upright. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard it hurt to breathe. Disoriented in the darkness, she put her hand out, trying to find the light. Her hand hit something and knocked it to the floor. Still half asleep, the loud crash hurt her ears.
It had been a long time since she'd had the dream. She felt around, felt the leather cushioning under her hip. She lay back. She had fallen asleep in the office, never making it upstairs to her room. In the dark, she looked toward the wide bay window on her right. Gradually her eyes adjusted and she could see the brightness of the moon through the filmy curtains. She pressed the small light on her watch, and the jeweled face showed 3:30. She pulled the soft blanket around her body, her feet and hands chilled.
"Katharine?" Startled, she muffled a cry.
"It's Trey. I heard a crash," he said from the other side of the door.
"Go away."
She heard the rattle of the door knob as he pushed it open.
"I'm fine," she said. "It's three a.m. -- I knocked over a lamp."
He held a small flashlight in his hand and passed the beam over her face.
She put up a hand to shield her eyes.
"You don't look okay."
"Christ," she said in exasperation, "can I have some privacy please?"
"I'm going to turn on the light."
"No, it's too bright. Wait." She walked toward the desk, found the corner with her hand and turned on the small light. She sat back down on the couch.
In the shadows she could see he wore only jeans which hung low on his hips. A swirl of dark hair ran down his muscled chest to his stomach, disappearing into his waistband. His feet were bare.
She swallowed, crossing her arms in front of herself, staring down past her pajama bottoms at her own bare toes. "See, I'm fine. So you can go back to bed. I was reading and fell asleep. It was just a bad dream." She tried to keep her gaze from straying to his chest and its expanse of muscle. The man was in very good shape.
"So you had a bad dream," he said patiently.
"Yeah, so what? It happens."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She looked at him, exasperated. "Why would I?"
"Katharine, you've got this wall up and you just won't let anyone in."
"Are you kidding? You pretty much blackmail me into coming here, and I'm supposed to trust you?"
He sighed. "Listen, can we drop this pretense? We really need to talk."
"I'd like to go back to sleep."
"This is about Brian, isn't it?" he said.
Trey came over to the couch, sat down beside her and the cushion dipped so she tipped toward him. She put out a hand to his shoulder and steadied herself. His skin was warm. She yelped when Trey reached for her feet.
"Your feet are freezing," he said, holding on when she tried to scoot back and away. He began to rub her left foot. "I guess you're not ticklish," he murmured, a smile in his voice. He did the same for the other foot, then pulled the blanket over her, tucking it around her. He settled against her on the couch.
"You didn't have to do that," she murmured, disturbed by the intimacy of the shadows around them, his closeness, the scent of him in her nostrils. She stared straight ahead into the shadows. "Samuel wants me to stay," she murmured, "Harry's planning this art show and Brian is back here where he doesn't belong." He lifted his arm and pulled her into his side.
"This is really hard," she said into his shoulder. "It's so much harder than I even imagined." She rubbed her eyes, pushed the hair out of her face.
She hadn't wanted a man in her life in a long time. Her art had taken over, but now with Trey so close, she felt the stirrings of sexual desire, need a deep burn in her stomach. It had been so long since she had wanted to touch another man, but now she wanted to touch Trey.
As if by mutual consent they leaned into each other, their mouths brushing, lips engaging softly. His tongue touched her upper lip, traced it, and it felt like fire suddenly burst in her stomach. Shaking, as if her whole body was under attack, she just wanted to keep touching and kissing him. The attraction left her feeling almost weak.
Carefully, gently, she disengaged herself from him.
"This is -- not what I expected, never in a million years," she said softly.
"I know." He ran a knuckle over her cheek, the gesture tender and touching to her. She wanted to lean into him again, but she didn't.
"We both need to get back to sleep." She could see the outline of his head, a cowlick of his hair standing up. She wanted to smooth it down. "Good night, Trey."
He leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. "Good night."
When he closed the door, she lay back down, pulling the blanket tightly around herself. Life was getting very complicated.
#
The day of the art show dawned bright and clear, the skies deep blue with an occasional cloud overhead. Sacha rode into town with Harry, wondering why she was so nervous, for she'd certainly had bigger and more stressful art showings then the one today in this relatively small town. She flexed her fingers, nerves making her hands cold. There were bound to be people that still remembered that young Katharine -- but maybe not, eight years was a long time. Maybe the memories of those times melted away as that Katharine had melted away one night.
Sacha looked down, running a hand over the fabric of her dress. The dress was light and airy, a white lacy confection that fell to just above her knees and gently hugged her curves. The low neckline had a triangle of lace in the bodice, offering just a hint of her breasts, but modest nonetheless. The espadrilles she'd chosen for style and comfort, and they matched the dress wonderfully. They were delightfully padded and a comfortable dream on her feet. She knew she'd need comfort for the next several hours of standing. Makeup was light, a dusting of eye shadow, and just a hint of sparkle on her cheeks. She'd left her hair loose so that it just touched her shoulders.
Today could be a wonderful experience; she just had to let go of the nerves.
They pulled into a parking space across from the cafe. Tents had been erected in the empty lot beside the cafe. "Very classy," she murmured.
The lot itself resembled a quaint little park with trees, meandering paths and flowering gardens. White streamers lifte
d gently in the breeze and white lights had been strung along the black tents edged with silver.
Harry checked his notebook. "I was here earlier to make sure all your art is in place. All you have to do is be here."
Sacha laughed. "Harry, you tell me that every time we have a showing."
"And is it true?" he asked with a grin, looking over at her.
"That's why I hired you," she said. "You take care of any glitches."
"And there will be no glitches today," he said, opening his door and exiting the vehicle.
Sacha likewise exited the car. "We're early anyway. I want to walk around and see how my paintings are situated."
"I think you'll be happy," he said. "We're in the main tent. Lots of good light, security unobtrusive, but there nonetheless."
As they walked toward the cafe, she experienced the strangest sense of nostalgia. Strange, because the first time she had ever been to the little cafe was yesterday to meet the owners Angela and Mike.
They walked through a wine sampling tent, and into an enclosed tent with a luscious array of desserts encased behind glass, some of it on ice, all of it looking scrumptious and ready to eat.
"Harry, Sacha, you've arrived," called out a female voice.
They both turned toward Angela and walked to meet the petite woman. Around her own age, Angela was dressed in shorts and a tank top. "Angela, good to see you," Sacha said with a smile. "We've got a perfect weather day."
"Yes. Everything is working in our favor."
Angela looked at Harry. "I think everything is ready to go. We're very excited because all indications are pointing toward a really good turnout. We even got some art reviewers on board, a couple photo ops lined up, newspaper hits -- and an added bonus. A college friend I know works for Visual World magazine. She's coming today and will run an article in the publication. Your art is certainly going to create a wonderful buzz of its own."
"Wow," Sacha said, "I can't believe how you've managed to pull all this together on such short notice."
Angela smiled. "It's what I used to do when I lived in New York -- create buzz around events." Angela turned to Sacha. "I can only imagine your excitement -- coming back home, exposing everyone to your art. People are going to be so thrilled to see your success."
"Thank you," Sacha said.
Angela looked at her watch. "Oh, my gosh, I really have to run and get changed before people start arriving."
"And we have to do a final check," Harry said.
"If you'll both excuse me, I'll be off." Angela darted back toward the cafe and disappeared inside.
"Okay," Harry said, "Let's go to the reception area. The sales will take place there and it's a more comfortable area for you to chat with people. As long as the weather holds, the tent sides will remain open so people can easily walk in and out."
Her artwork was located in the middle of the tent and surrounded by a protective railing. People could get close enough to look but not close enough to touch.
"How is this setup?" he asked.
"Perfect," Sacha said admiringly. "You've done a good job, Harry."
He looked relieved.
"Harry, I can't believe you were worried," she said. "Did you think I was going to pitch a fit?"
"Well, you have to admit it's a little less formal than your previous gatherings."
Sacha laughed. "Harry, my first show was in a women's shelter. Anyway, I love it. Where else could I have such a selection of desserts while I show my art?"
"Well, everything's under control then."
She looked back toward the road. People were beginning to arrive. She looked at her watch. "Trey and Samuel should be arriving soon."
"Yes, and here comes Paula."
Sure enough, Paula walked across the lawn. She wore a short summery skirt with bursts of red and black flowers, and high heels on her feet.
"Harry, Katharine." Paula looked around. "Well, this is nicer than I expected."
"It's very nice," Sacha agreed. "And rather elegant."
"Paula," Harry said, "I have a small exhibit planned the week you'll be in New York, at my little gallery I mentioned to you."
"Maybe I can stop in," Paula said.
Paula looked at Sacha. "Harry offered me a ride back to New York when you two return, but I'm flying in."
"We should have room in the car," Harry said.
Sacha steepled her fingers and pressed them against her chin. "Actually, Harry, I'm not sure when I'm coming back."
He looked surprised. "Well, you do have the museum showing in a little over a week."
"I know. I might come up just for that and then fly back."
"Are you thinking of moving here?" Paula asked, her voice rising slightly.
Sacha looked at her, but said to Harry, "I'm keeping things open. Everything's up in the air right now."
"Okay, we can discuss it later." He looked around. "There's the security team. Excuse me, ladies."
Harry left them together. Sacha adjusted one of the easels, stepping back to look at it. Paula stepped in front of her, her head tilted to the side.
"I know about your little deception," she said softly.
Sacha raised a brow.
"Pretending to be someone you're not," Paula continued. "Brian told me you're an imposter. He said you're not the real Katharine."
Sacha clenched her fists. "You should be careful around him."
"I intend to talk to Trey. You realize I must tell Samuel," Paula said. "What you're doing is illegal."
"Excuse me. I have a showing to attend."
Sacha turned her back on Paula, arranging the business cards on the little table, aware of the fine tremor in her hands.
She felt like running. Blindly, she looked around, saw the car where Harry had parked it.
"Trey," Paula said behind her.
Sacha saw Trey walking across the park. Paula hurried to meet him and gripped his arm. He came to a standstill.
Sacha took several breaths, closing her eyes. She needed to calm down, relax.
When she opened her eyes Trey stood almost in front of her and he was alone. She didn't see Paula anywhere.
He wore a dark blue T-shirt and gray jeans with polished boots on his feet. The shirt showed his muscled arms and broad chest off to advantage. He looked…even better than the desserts she'd eyed earlier. She remembered their kiss earlier in the week, and despite the warm morning she rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.
"Good morning, Trey."
Trey dipped his head, his glance taking her in. "You look great," he said with a smile.
"Thank you. Where's Samuel?" she asked quickly.
He grimaced. "He's not feeling well. He's unhappy that he's going to miss this, but he's just having a bad time this morning."
A heaviness settled in her chest. "Maybe I should go back to the house and check on him."
Trey put a hand on her arm. "He's got Helen there, and she called his specialist, so he said to tell you all bases are covered, and he doesn't want you coming home until it's over."
"But if he's not well --"
"The doctor thinks it's a mild case of indigestion. Helen will keep in contact with the doctor throughout the day. Like I said, he really hates to miss this."
"All right," she agreed. "But if you find out he gets worse, you have to tell me."
"I'll do that," Trey said. "Now I'd like you to give me the tour of your art. I'm interested in hearing the inspiration behind each painting."
"You're that interested?" she asked in surprise.
One brow rose. "I'm interested in everything you do," he said. Sacha was the first to look away from those intense, deeply blue eyes. Soon, she knew, they had to sit down and talk.
#
Sacha saw him saunter into the tent. The afternoon had progressed well and Sacha had enjoyed herself after her initial nervousness. There was a crush of people at times, and some questions about the years she had been away. She skirted the more personal questions, and found he
rself at times engrossed in discussions about her art and her unique style. Of Paula, she had seen nothing.
By afternoon's end, she had sold all but two of her paintings.
Now Brian walked over to the two remaining works on easels and he pointed to the larger of the two, Release.
"I want that one," he said.
She froze in uncertainty, looking around for Trey or Harry. Trey had been here most of the day, but now that things were winding down, he'd walked away so he'd have cell reception. He'd wanted to check on Samuel.
Brian's skin looked pale against his shock of red hair. He grinned, waving a hand to indicate her hair…her dress. "I like the changes," he said, stopping within three feet of her.
His words seemed to shock her out of whatever paralysis held her. "Leave or I'll call security." Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears. Quickly, she looked around for the security guard.
He smirked. "Security is grabbing dessert."
His glance turned assessing. "You must make a pretty good living with this gig. We need to talk about old times, Katharine." His eyes narrowed and she saw the smirk again, as if he enjoyed her fear. "You do look like her, even with the makeup. She was such a scared little rabbit," he whispered, placing his hands on her waist and jerking her towards him.
The breath she hadn't known she was holding left her at his touch. Acting on reflex; Sacha shoved the heel of both hands up under his chin and forced his head back, simultaneously jerking her knee into his groin. With a gurgling sound, he dropped like a sack of potatoes. She stumbled back.
"Even rabbits bite," she muttered.
"Katharine!" Arms pulled her back against a hard chest. She twisted, brought her elbow up. "It's Trey," he said, blocking the elbow aimed at his head. "It's Trey."
Sacha shuddered, then began to shake. "Trey."
"It's okay." He pulled her into his embrace, his arms tightening as she continued to shake. He looked at Brian on the ground. "I see you've taken care of everything."
#
Trey and Sacha arrived back at the farm well past midnight.
Sacha felt incredibly tired and didn't immediately move when Trey pulled up to the house. She was content just to have his arm around her the entire ride back to the Rambler. Strange how she'd reacted instinctively, without thought, when Brian had grabbed her.
At the police station Brian had tried to convince the investigating officer she'd attacked him without provocation, but not only had Trey been a witness, so had Paula whom Brian had impatiently knocked down when she'd tried to talk to him.