Almost Perfect (10 page)

"He's still that way."

"But I'm not him," Joe said quietly. "How could you think I'd be anything but proud of what you were doing?"

"But that's just it. At the time, to my ears, you were starting to sound exactly like him."

"How?" He looked taken aback.

"Being all gung ho military." She held up her hand when he started to interrupt. "Until I grew up and got out on my own, I honestly thought most cops, and therefore most men in uniform, were like my father. I've since learned that's not true. A good many of them are like the Colonel. They have conviction, integrity, and most of all, compassion. I should have seen that then. You weren't turning into my dad. You were turning into yours. And I can't think of a better man to emulate."

She took a step toward him, aching for him to understand. "Unfortunately, I didn't see that. I was too young. Joe, I was seventeen when you asked me to marry you."

"I know." Embarrassment flickered in his eyes before he looked away. "I actually didn't mean to ask you for at least another year. But then you told me you were going to UT and the thought of you running around campus with all those college boys…"

"Made you panic."

"If you call going out and buying the biggest engagement ring I could afford panicking, then yeah, I guess I did." His mouth tightened. "I knew we couldn't marry right away, but I wanted to be sure every guy who saw you saw that rock on your finger and knew you were taken."

She actually smiled a bit at that. It was so like Joe to stake out his territory. As a foster child, he'd learned to travel light, but what was his, he held on to with both hands, and he would battle any kid who touched it. The word "mine" was used sparingly, but when he said it he meant it.

He heaved a sigh. "I admit, I didn't like the idea of you going to UT, but I wasn't trying to hold you back. I was afraid of losing you to some frat boy.

But"—his gaze bored into her—"I never would have stood in the way of your dreams, if you'd only shared them with me."

"The problem is… I wouldn't have believed you. I wouldn't have been able to. Not with you standing there wearing a uniform, with your hair buzzed short, spouting macho military jargon." She took another step, laid her hand on the canoe that stood between them. "When you proposed, my whole life flashed before my eyes. Only it wasn't my life. It was my mother's. I didn't want to wind up like her, bowing to a man's wishes, cooking, cleaning, raising kids with little or no help, while all my dreams were trampled over. I didn't know marriage could be a partnership, not a life sentence where the woman's identity is ripped away the first day."

"Fire-breathing Maddy trampled over?" He shook his head. "I can't imagine you ever winding up like that."

"Looking back, I can't either. In fact, the opposite would have happened, and that wouldn't have been fair to you. Back then, I was
too
adamant about my independence, to the point of selfishness. The past eight years have taught me that sometimes you have to set yourself aside and put your own dreams on hold. But at least I did it for love, not lack of a backbone like my mom."

"The last eight years?" Confusion creased his brow.

She hesitated, not sure how he'd react to this topic. "My husband died of cancer after a long illness."

"I'm sorry." The honest sorrow in his eyes added weight to the words.

"I am too." Sympathy always brought the grief welling back to the surface. This time when the tears came, she let them. "I loved him very much, and I miss him every day."

"Oh God, Maddy—" He looked ready to step around the canoe and come to her.

"I'm fine. Really." She raised a hand, knowing she would lose all composure if he touched her now. "It's been hard, but it's time for me to get on with my life, get back to the dreams I set aside. Which is why I came here."

His frown deepened. "To work at a summer camp?"

"No, to Santa Fe. For my artwork." She smiled sadly. "You know what the big irony of my life is? I married a man who was the polar opposite of my father. Intelligent, successful, self-assured, and one of the kindest, sweetest men I have ever met."

"He sounds like a geek."

"He was!" She laughed. "The poor guy actually wore pocket protectors when we first started dating. He was also color blind and had no taste in art, which is how we met. His office manager kept badgering him to decorate. So Nigel—"

"Nigel?" Joe's brows shot up. "You married a man named Nigel?"

"I did." She felt her smile spread across her whole face. "He was a tall, lanky stereotype of an accountant, and the day he walked into the gallery where I worked, desperate for art and hilariously clueless, I took one look at him and thought 'Oh, honey, you so need me. For a lot more than picking out your art.'"

Sadness and envy filled Joe's eyes. "You must have made his life."

"I—" His words touched her so deep she didn't know what to say. "Thank you. I like to think I did. We were very happy together. The irony, though, is I married him thinking here was a man who will never ask me to ignore my needs to take care of him. And then he got cancer and that's exactly what I had to do."

"You're saying you stopped painting?"

"I didn't have the energy or the heart to paint. Not often, anyway."

"You must have resented him for that."

"Not at all. No."

"No?" he demanded. "What do you mean, no?"

She frowned in confusion at his outraged expression. "There were lots of days when I resented life, but never Nigel. I went through the full range of anger and grief, of railing at God, and finally coming to terms with the unfairness of life and injustice of death."

"Yeah, I know all about those last two."

"After serving in the Middle East, I imagine you do."

He studied her. "So you're telling me you gave up your chance to become an artist for this man and you have no regrets?"

"Regrets? Now those I have plenty, but marrying Nigel isn't one of them. I think we were meant to have that time together. Nigel helped me grow up, and I think I brought a lot of joy into his short life." She cocked her head, studying the man before her, this grown-up version of the boy she'd loved. "What about you? Regrets?"

"None I care to dwell on."

"There's a difference between dwelling on and dealing with. So, the question is"—she took a deep breath—"where do we go from here? Can you and I put the past behind us and be friends?"

"Maddy…" A humorless laugh escaped. "A five-minute conversation doesn't make fifteen years of anger go away. Especially after learning that you weren't willing to give up a single thing for me, but you gave up years of your life and the thing I thought mattered to you most for another man."

Her back stiffened. "I'd like you to remember, I was seventeen when I broke up with you—and twenty-four and married when my husband was diagnosed with cancer. What was I going to do? Divorce him?"

"No." Anger glinted in his eyes. "But it still pisses me off."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I can't change the past. What concerns me now is the present. Can we or can we not work together without this bitterness constantly between us?"

"You're asking a lot."

"I know that." She wanted to shake him, since she was doing this as much for his sake as her own.

He finally sighed. "The most I can promise is to continue being civil."

"You call that civil?" She gestured toward the camp. "You're treating me like a total stranger whose presence you can barely tolerate."

"You are a total stranger! The Maddy I knew would never have put her art aside for anyone. I still can't believe you did that."

She shook her head. Reasoning with Joe was like reasoning with a rock. "If it helps, that's why I'm here. To find out once and for all if I'm good enough to make it as an artist."

"What do you mean 'if you're good enough'?"

His temper built again, but oddly, it seemed to be on her behalf. "You were good enough back in high school to win that scholarship."

"That doesn't mean I'm good enough to get a gallery to represent me."

"What kind of bullshit is this? Of course you're good enough." He paced away, confusing her with his agitation. Her art was the reason she'd tossed out for rejecting him. Why would he defend it? Turning, he came back. Planting both hands on the canoe, he leaned toward her. "You want to reach a truce with me? Fine! Here's my conditions. If you're going to put me through a whole summer of hell, you damn well better make it pay off."

"What are you saying?"

"I want you to do what you said you were going to do. Become a professional artist. That's why you jilted me, right? Well, if you want me to stop being pissed, you damn well better do it."

"Joe…" She blinked in surprise. "It's not that easy—"

"I assume you brought a portfolio or something."

"I did, but—"

"Good." He straightened. "I have to go into town tomorrow to pick up paint for this canoe. You're going with me so I can take you to some galleries."

"Joe, I have work to do tomorrow." And riding around with him was the last thing she wanted to do. "I'm supposed to help Sandy clean out the prop room."

"Tough. She'll have to manage without you, and you'll work twice as hard the next day to make it up to her."

"But—"

"I'm not kidding." He leaned forward again. "If you're staying, you are not going to play around at this. You're going to do it."

"I see." Her own jaw tightened. "Is this where I snap to attention and say 'Yes, sir!' "

"Damn straight. I'll pick you up at the Craft Shack at oh eight hundred."

Chapter 7

Sometimes in life, we all need a little nudge to get us moving in the right direction. If we ignore it, we're likely to get a shove.

—
How to Have a Perfect Life

Joe felt a little shell-shocked the following morning as he drove his truck toward the Craft Shack. How had the conversation gone from Maddy telling him about her perfect late husband, the Geek, to him offering to take her into town? Offering? Hell, he'd
told
her he was taking her, which was nuts in the first place and even crazier because he'd gotten away with it. The Maddy he knew hated being ordered around.