Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) (19 page)

“Not me. But I brought a sheriff. He can arrest anyone who isn’t nice to you.”

Mac took his sister in. She stood at the doorway, eagerness and excitement buzzing in her expression. She was proud of him. And he in turn was proud of her. He knew it couldn’t have been easy for Doe to pack and transport all his Warrior Woman photographs all the way to Sacramento alone, and she’d then spent the remainder of the day setting up the show. She’d spent hours for weeks beforehand, organizing the appetizers and drinks and sending out press releases.

She’d even managed to get most of Meadowview here in support of him.

Yeah, critics like Tipper Michaels might pan his show once again, but Mac knew what mattered the most. What mattered was that he did right by the people he loved.

He just wished he could have done right by Trudy.

“Trust me,” Doe whispered and put a hand on his back. Giving him a push, she added, “And trust in love.”

Trust in
love
? Where had that come from? Puzzled, he tossed a glance at his sister. Before he could ask her to explain, she pulled him to the podium.

Gesturing to the microphone, she stage-whispered, “Speak!”

Yeah, right. He’d rather run. But instead, he connected gazes with his sister—his very
excited
sister—and gripped the microphone. If this is what Doe wanted, this is what she’d get. Turning to face the crowd, he raised it to his mouth and spoke. “Hello, all. I appreciate you attending tonight’s event.” He ran his gaze over the crowd before him that contained a few people he didn’t recognize—art patrons and critics, most likely—and just about all of Meadowview.

And Trudy.

Trudy?

He dropped the microphone.

The loud metallic screech it made hitting the floor made him wince. What was
Trudy
doing here? He thought he was persona non grata in her life now. Especially after his grand gesture at being romantic had failed so utterly and miserably. Why he’d ever thought that shoving a bunch of photographs under her nose—naked ones at that—would win her back, he’d never know.

“Mac!” Doe’s stage whisper startled him, returning him to reality. He had a speech to give.

He cleared his throat and fumbled with the microphone. “As I was saying, I’m glad you could be here tonight. Let’s see…” His brain faded.

Doe made a desperate face at him. Oh yes, the speech.

He looked back at the crowd and met Trudy’s gaze. Her warm and loving and a little vulnerable gaze. Why was she here? What was she thinking? Would she be willing to talk to him? Was she just here for Doe?

“Mac!” Doe’s stage whisper sounded over the silence.

The least he could do was explain to everyone here what they were about to see. What had triggered him to create Warrior Woman to begin with. That story was valid, even if his photographs of Angie weren’t. He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah. So…at first I thought the Warrior Woman series would a way for me to show that fierce strength, that fighting spirit I see in so many women. A way to pay homage to my mother and her tireless battle with the cancer that ultimately claimed her.”

He paused and glanced at Doe. At the mention of their mother, tears had formed in her eyes, but she still beamed at him. He continued. “Partway through the process, I realized that being a warrior means more than protecting others, or even protecting oneself. A true warrior woman is not only a fighter and protector, she’s vulnerable, as well. She’s a mother, a sister, a woman in love, and a woman in pain. But always a woman moving forward.”

He sought out Trudy’s eyes. Her gaze fluttered downward, but lifted to connect with his. “Even when taking a step backward,” he concluded.

Had Trudy smiled? From this distance, he couldn’t make out her expression.

“Inside, you’ll find a collection of photographs that I took in an attempt to capture this essence.” He hesitated. “I don’t know that I succeeded, but as you look about, maybe you’ll find a bit of the warrior inside you, or perhaps recognize her in the women in your life.”

He set down the microphone and turned to nod at Doe.

Who threw open the doors to the gallery—and to what could be the biggest disappointment in his life.

* * *

I
f Trudy
never saw another butterfly in her life again, it wouldn’t be soon enough. Whoever had thought up that ridiculous analogy about nerves careening about in one’s belly as having
anything
to do with soft little dainty butterflies should be shot. Willing herself not to pass out (or puke—that would
so
not be good), she made her way over to Mac before he could enter the gallery and see what she’d done. Time to confess all.

“Trudy,” he murmured. He raised a hand to her face, then dropped it heavily by his side.

“I did something,” she said blankly, then stopped thinking as she took in the sharp planes of his face. The dark smudges under his eyes where none had been there before. The dull sheen instead of the bright sparkle of his eyes she’d grown so used to seeing. But then he breathed and her body responded to the familiar way his chest rose, the sight of the vein beating along the length of his neck, the warm lift of air as he exhaled.

“Uncle Mac!” A high-pitched shriek filled the air, jolting Mac’s attention away.

Betsy barreled through the crowd and ran the last few feet until she reached the two of them. She wrapped her little arms around his legs and beamed up at a rather startled Mac. “I’m gonna be four. You have to go to my birthday party.”

Milla caught up to her daughter and tugged at Betsy as she gave Mac an apologetic grin. “I’m so sorry. Her babysitter cancelled and I promised Trudy I’d stop by. The kiddo here and I won’t go in and see the photos, though—we’re heading out now. Aren’t we, Betsy?” She turned her attention to her daughter, whose face had scrunched up into an oncoming squall. “You promised you’d be a good girl.”

“
You
promised ice cream,” Betsy pouted, not releasing Mac’s legs.

Rolling her eyes, Milla said, “Bad parenting, at its best. Yes, and if you want ice cream, Betsy, you’d better let Mac and Aunt Trudy alone to talk.”

It took a moment, after Mac had to take the preschooler into his arms and promise to get her a new doll for her birthday, but Milla and Betsy finally melted back into the crowd, leaving Trudy to nervously stare at a puzzled Mac.

“So, um,” she started, then stumbled to a stop, knowing she sounded inane but unable to form coherent thought. She swallowed and gathered herself. “I did something. Doe helped me. And I don’t know if you’ll like what I did. But…just know I love you.”

“Trudy,” Mac said slowly. “Whatever you did is fine, I’m sure. You can’t do anything wrong.” He let out a harsh laugh but tempered the rough sound with a softness in his eyes. “Well, except the whole dumping me thing, but I know you had your reasons.”

“About that…”

“I wish you hadn’t pushed me away. I never meant to hurt you. I meant to—”

“I know,” she said quickly interrupting him. “And I was horrid to you. I can’t ever make what I did better, but I was finally able to see what you’d done. What you meant.” She swallowed. “I was finally able to see you.”

“Trudy—”

She pointed a shaking finger into the gallery. “We can talk about this later. Right now your public needs you to be in there. In the gallery. With your Warrior Woman.”

“But—”

She placed two fingers on his lips, wishing her mouth could replace her fingers, then took him by the hand. Together, they entered the gallery.

And when he looked around, when he saw what she’d done, Mac’s hand lost its strength. His fingers slipped from hers.

Trudy snuck a quick peek at his face. He stood, expressionless, taking in the Warrior Woman series. His back went straight. His expression tightened into something she couldn’t read.

Then he began to walk.

He paused before the shot of her coming out of Milla’s hospital room, tears streaming down her face—the only picture in the room where she wasn’t nude:
Warrior in Anguish
.

He moved on to the one he’d taken one early morning, of her curled up under a blanket in his bed, a cup of steaming coffee in her hands, staring off into the dawning sky:
Warrior Woman in Contemplation
.

At the photo of her laughing and tossing cherry blossoms into the air,
Warrior Woman in Motion
, he stopped. But he still didn’t say anything.

Didn’t look at her.

Trudy’s heart sunk. Earlier in the day, she’d made the risky decision to swap out Mac’s staged photographs of Angie for the ones of herself as Warrior Woman. The ones he’d framed and labeled—unable to get rid of them, as Doe had explained. His sister had been right. Mac’s brilliance lay in his ability to capture the soul of the moment. To capture truth on film and paper.

The world deserved to see that brilliance. The world deserved Mac’s art.

But maybe this was a risk she shouldn’t have taken. Not with the expressionless way Mac was staring about the room. He worked his jaw and Trudy’s heart dropped to the tips of her Jimmy Choo heels.

A man came between her and Mac, pumping his hand in a hard handshake. “Finally did it, I see. I knew you had it in you.”

Mac gestured to Trudy. “Tipper, meet my muse, Gertrude T. Prendergast, the most amazing model—and even more amazing woman, in the entire world. Trudy, this is Tipper Michaels, the critic who once—”

“—once said you had a soulless life. Said you couldn’t find your heart if someone handed it to you on a platter, too, if I recall.” The art critic bent low before Trudy. “Glad to see you proved me wrong.” He strode off, leaving Trudy to a smiling Mac.

Mac came to Trudy’s favorite, the one he’d tried to get her to look at more closely that day in her home:
Warrior Woman in Love
.

A slow smile formed on his face. He turned and stared at the crowd, finally taking in their reactions to his show. The low-pitched hum of voices, the pointed fingers, the tears, smiles, sighs and wide eyes spoke louder than words.

For long, ticking seconds, Mac simply stared at the crowd. Finally, he turned to Trudy. “You did this for me,” he said.

She bit her lip, then nodded. “And for me. I was tired of hiding who I was. Of being so worried about what other people thought of me I couldn’t even see who I was myself. But
you
saw me, Mac. You saw who I was, down to the bone. To my soul.” She hesitated, then said in a rush, “Is it okay that I did this? That I switched the pieces?”

“Trudy. God. Yes, of course. But I need to know for sure it’s okay with you. These images are of you. They’re
real
. Not marble or brass or sandstone. It’s clear this woman”—he waved a hand around the room—“is you, Trudy Prendergast.”

She entwined her hand in his and pointed to the label on the photograph in front of them. “But that’s also me.”

He tipped his head to rest on hers and stared at the photograph.
Warrior Woman in Love
. “A woman in love, or a warrior?”

She smiled. “Both. And that’s why I switched the photos. I’m brave. I don’t need to hide anymore. I’m a warrior. And I’m also in love with a wonderful, amazing man. A brilliant artist. And I won’t hide that anymore, either.”

“Trudy, what you’ve done for me is amazing. I’m…I’m overwhelmed.
Beyond
overwhelmed. But I’m worried, too. Sweetheart, what about Essentially Green? What about the morality clause? This will cost you the contract, right?”

She wrapped an arm around his waist. Pulled him closer. Breathed him in. She’d been an idiot to think that running away from Mac would solve anything. “Yeah, sure, but Essentially Green can bite my hiney if they think these photographs aren’t art—if they think they’re
immoral
.”

Mac kissed the top of her head, then reached under her chin and tipped her face up so their gazes met. His eyes sparkled, but still contained a hint of worry, too. “And the Tubster Trudy thing? There’s no guarantee these pictures won’t get out there somehow. People other than art aficionados and critics are going to see these, Trudy.”

She scoffed. “That’s totally in the past. I’m
so
over that. Should have been ages ago, but I got a little stuck. It never was about the internet poking fun at me. My reaction to that meme was about something much deeper.”

“The baby thing?”

She sucked in a breath and stiffened slightly. “Still difficult for me to face. But there’s adoption, and between our two sisters, we have six little ones to spoil and play with, anyway. And knowing Milla, more will probably pop out sooner or later. Probably sooner.”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, the vibrations rumbling in her own chest.

She relaxed, leaning into him. “My sister helped me see that family is real no matter what form it comes in. And
you
made me realize I’m a real woman, no matter what I look like, inside or out. It took me a long time to realize I’m of value, whether I have a perfect model’s body, or whether I have ‘real’ parents, or whether I can pop out babies like my sister—or none of those things. It took forever to realize my family is made up of people who love me, and who
I
love. And I love you, Mac.”