A Season for Family (12 page)

T
he next morning Olivia sat in her cubicle of an office and kept an eye on the front door. Her nerves were frayed rope, her stomach an angry beehive. If only Freddy hadn't interrupted her conversation with Heath last night, things might not have ended on such a strange note. Even so, she'd expected anything other than the silent treatment she got on the drive home.

Maybe she'd gone too far, but Olivia would take up dippin' snuff before she'd feel guilty for being honest about the way she felt. This morning she'd had plenty of time alone to consider those feelings she'd just
had
to share. Feelings that were unfamiliar, feelings that hurt like the dickens when they were exposed.

But in fairness to Heath, Olivia had to admit this new pain was self-inflicted. She could have kept her mouth shut, but no… And what did she expect from a man who naturally looked for the dark lining in every silver cloud?

If she'd taken a little more time to think it over, Heath might be at her side instead of hiding behind his to-do list this morning. It would be nice to have him present since he'd set this whole thing with the gallery into
motion. Instead, he'd made himself scarce after muttering that an independent businesswoman didn't need help from any man to sell herself.

Lance had phoned to say he was on his way. He'd be coming to the front door any minute and she intended to get this over with in a hurry, take him straight upstairs where her amateurish paintings dominated the walls. It would be a short visit as soon as he realized the glimmer of talent reflected in the one canvas he'd seen needed a lot of development before she'd be able to show, if ever.

She leaned back in her creaky desk chair and spoke to the ceiling. “Why did I let myself be fooled into thinking I was ready for this?”

“Because you
are
ready, honey.” A comforting voice carried over the top of the partition.

“For real?” Olivia collapsed in a spineless heap against her secondhand desk.

Peggy's sneakers squeaked as they carried her into the office where she plopped down in the side chair.

“For real.” Her round face bore a broad smile. Olivia was relieved that there was nothing patronizing in the older woman's eyes. Peggy had called Olivia's paintings
stunning.
“You're just a nervous mama who's afraid she might be the only person who thinks her baby is beautiful.”

“People do occasionally have ugly babies, you know,” Olivia reminded her new friend.

Peggy leaned forward and reached for Olivia's hand. The touch was soft and gentle in a way she hadn't known since her mother's death.

“Everything was fine last night. You were so confident when you showed me your stuff. What happened after we went home to cause you to doubt yourself?”

Olivia's chin dipped toward her chest. Accepting defeat wasn't part of who she was inside. But she'd figured out last night that going for it only felt exhilarating when the effort was successful. Not getting the desired response turned out to be a drag. God must intend for her to learn a lesson from this failure.

Lord, couldn't You wait a little while longer or take a different approach? Is it really necessary to make Your point with my very first love?

“Well?” Peggy prodded.

“Remember how you asked me yesterday if Heath knew that I care for him?”

Peggy nodded and scooted closer for the details.

“I took that chance last night and it didn't work out so well.” Olivia kept her voice low.

“What?” Peggy's one-word question was a shriek of disbelief.

“We went out for a while and I took advantage of the time alone to tell Heath how I feel about him.”

“And his reaction?”

Olivia sighed, felt her face growing warm with embarrassment. “At first he just sat there like a bump on a log.”

“Did he come right out and say he didn't feel the same way?”

“He didn't need to say anything. I could tell by the look on his face—he was mortified. Then he gave me a quick little pity kiss and he even apologized for doing that.”

Peggy's expression morphed from disbelief to sympathy.

“Oh, honey. If I'd kept my thoughts to myself, you wouldn't be in this awkward spot right now.”

“It's not your fault, Peggy. I'm a big girl and I knew I was taking a risk.”

“But I feel awful, as if I set you up to get hurt.”

Olivia fanned away Peggy's remorse. There was no point in both of them feeling foolish.

“Is there anything I can do to help fix things?”

“Stick close for a couple of days and that might keep me from shoving even more of my big foot into my mouth. By then he'll be back in Austin and I can nurse this battered pride that has no place in my life anyway.”

“What if he's not? Back in Austin, I mean. Heath could hang around Waco, you know.”

“Listen to me.” Olivia shook her head at the notion. She had no idea where Peggy was going with this false encouragement. “That's not going to happen. Last night he admitted that being at Table of Hope has helped change his attitude about work. Instead of running off to a new job in another city he's going to stay where he is and rededicate himself to his career. He wants to have an impact, make a difference. So, something positive has come of his community service after all and that'll just have to be enough for me.”

Peggy seemed accepting, almost pleased by the news.

“In that case it'll be an honor to be your Girl Friday for as long as you need me,” she agreed.

The buzzer jolted both women out of their confidential moment. Somebody was at the entrance.

“That'll be Lance.”

Olivia stood, shot the cuffs of her only dress blouse out the sleeves of her least worn-out sweater and brushed down the front of her jeans, wishing for the first time ever that she owned a pair of tailored wool slacks.

“You're a class act no matter what you're wearing.” Peggy sensed Olivia's discomfort with the way she looked. “And your paintings are incredible. Don't be nervous.”

Olivia crossed the short length of her office and stopped just inside the cubical doorway. Pretending to take something off her head, she perched it on the coat rack and then settled another invisible hat, adjusted it just so and then checked her image reflected by the wall mirror.

“What are you doing?” Peggy chuckled at the make-believe behavior.

“I thought it might help if I took off my business owner's hat and put on my artist's hat for this meeting. Then as soon as this is over I'll need to switch to my Pilgrim hat so we can start getting ready for our Thanksgiving feast.”

“There must be a ton of work involved in preparing a meal for so many people.”

“You got that right,” Olivia warned. “It'll definitely keep me distracted from personal matters for a while.”

At least I hope so.

 

Heath was in a sorry mood, made worse by the fact that it was his own fault.

Olivia and that guy from Studio Gallery had been in her apartment for over an hour. Heath was about to make an excuse to find out for himself what was going on up there. He'd adjusted every hinge on every door while waiting on the people overhead to reappear and he was running out of excuses for hanging out at the bottom of Olivia's stairwell.

Amos was keeping an eye on him and Heath knew
it. The old guy had been scowling all morning, but with such a sourpuss, how could a body tell when the man was skulking about for a reason or just being his miserably normal self? He'd made his point and there was no need to keep driving it home with piercing looks and disapproving grunts.

Feet thumped in the stairwell, excited voices floated down the steps, and the door flung wide with one easy touch, thanks to the overdose of WD-40 Heath had applied.

He caught sight of Biddle's wife.

“Oh, Heath! I'm glad to find you out here.” Her greeting was overly enthusiastic, friendly to the point of being suspicious.

The owner of the gallery appeared, looking as pleased as a huntin' dog on the first day of squirrel season. Olivia was last, pushing the door closed behind her. When she turned toward the others her eyes grazed Heath's momentarily and then she returned her attention to her visitor.

“Lance, you remember Heath, of course.” Olivia acknowledged him. How nice of her.

“Good to see you again, Stone.”

Heath held up the spray can of lubricant and a red rag to deflect the obligatory handshake.

“You were right about Miss Wyatt's talent. It's unique, very exciting.” He smiled at Olivia. “We're going to work well together.”

The man who'd been so professional at the gallery was all but salivating over Olivia today. The thought of escorting him off the property was tempting.

The few hours Heath had spent on the narrow bunk last night had been nearly sleepless. His chest ached from the shuddering and shivering of a tender heart that
had barely existed a week ago. He'd groaned, grieved and given God a fit over Olivia's confession of love. If she'd never blurted out how she felt, then things would still be going according to plan. But he'd not only heard those precious words from the lips he found so appealing, he'd memorized her statement and now he could repeat it over and over and over again.

He could kick himself for that hasty excuse of a kiss. Amos was right, it was inevitable; Heath would spoil everything eventually. The same sullen ways that had kept him from being close to his parents would be a roadblock keeping Olivia at a distance. It would never come naturally to put another person's happiness first, thanks to the self-centered thinking that kept him alive on the job.

And speaking of the job, he'd begun to see it as his mission field, a dangerous place to find out if he really might make a difference. Heath hadn't been willing to put his parents or the sisters he'd never met at risk so he certainly wouldn't expose Olivia. If he stayed undercover, he'd never have the family he'd come to want with all his soul.

He mentally complained about his circumstances.

If I hadn't been sent on this assignment barefaced, this might be a whole different story. But instead—

“Heath.” Olivia interrupted the roller coaster of thought that was derailing his life. “We're headed to the big room to sit down and review the gallery's standard contract.”

“And you want me to look over it with you?” At least she still valued his opinion.

“Actually, I asked Peggy to help with the legal stuff.” Olivia offered him a weak smile. “Since you didn't set
up the coffee stations today I was hoping that maybe you could put the kettle on and bring us some hot tea.”

“Sure thing,
Miss Livvy.
” Heath complied, as if he had a choice.

Man! I am such a loser.

Peggy Biddle snickered.

He trailed along behind the small group and peeled off into the kitchen when they kept going. He set up the tray exactly as he'd seen Olivia do it, filling the ceramic pot and covering it with the cozy thing she claimed kept it warm. He fished around in the pantry for some of her fancy herbal tea bags, dumped a pack of Fig Newtons on an extra saucer for something sweet and took a moment to admire his work. English High Tea if there ever was one. His mama would be so proud.

He stopped at the door to the big room, inhaled deeply of the same air Olivia was breathing. It was scented with homemade biscuits and Pine-Sol; two things that represented her gifts of service. She had done incredible work in this place and deserved all the support she could get from him, starting right now. If this was what she needed, then by golly he'd put a smile on his face and serve the lady a cup of tea.

“So if you'll sign right there, I'll arrange for our driver to pick up your canvases this afternoon. We'll kick off your show with a catered meet-and-greet on Saturday evening.”

“This Saturday?”
Olivia squeaked.

Lance smiled, seemed unconcerned about moving so fast. “Yes, ma'am. The holidays are perfect for launching a new artist. I can get the promotion running on our site tomorrow morning and I'll send an online invitation out to our best clients by noon.”

“Beg pardon.” Heath elbowed his way into the center
of the discussion. “Hot tea, as ordered.” He set the tray before Olivia. She looked up, mouthed her thanks and caught the cue Heath was sending by cutting his eyes toward the door.

“Excuse me for a moment, please.” She pushed her chair away, stood and headed for the hallway. “Peggy, would you mind pouring while I run and get some milk?”

“My bad—forgot the milk.” Heath shrugged and followed her to the kitchen.

“What is it?” She didn't seem pleased.

“I want to know what he offered you.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, definitely not happy. She snatched a carton from the cooler and filled a small pitcher.

“This is none of your business and what would you know about working with a gallery anyway?”

“Password-protecting your computers can't keep me off those old machines,” Heath informed her.

“What's that got to do with anything?” She planted a fist on each hip.

“I was online most of the night figuring out how this contract with an art gallery works. You ought to have the last say on pricing the paintings and the artist always gets the highest percentage of the profits. So don't let old Lance make you think that just because this is your first rodeo, you don't know a longhorn from a buffalo.”

That expression Heath couldn't decipher settled over Olivia's face. Her eyes held no sparkle and her pupils became pinpoints of dark heat burning holes in his intentions. Her full lips compressed into a seal of disapproval.

“For the life of me I don't know why you care, Heath. Your time here is technically over since you've been
on duty around the clock. Your sentence is served and Detective Biddle can vouch for your work. You don't even need my signature on your release form, so you can leave anytime you're ready.”