Love Will Find a Way (32 page)

"Isn't it all incredible?" she asked Travis.

He loosened his tie. "Not bad."

"It's not your thing, is it?" She didn't know why she felt disappointed. Travis was a country boy. He didn't belong here.

"It's your thing, and that's what matters. I'm glad you had a good time."

"I had a fabulous time, the best ever. I wish I could do this stuff all the time."

"Which one do you like the best?" He nodded toward the wall.

"The mirror," she said, walking over to the painting that had caught her attention the minute she'd come through the door. It was a shimmering abstract impression of a mirror, reflections barely there, hints of something, but no definition. "It's a trip into the imagination, into the world of the inner mind."

Travis tilted his head, considering her words. "I think the artist drank too much wine."

She made a face at him, but he just smiled back at her. "I don't pretend to get any of this. But I get you, Carly. That's all you should care about."

"Maybe I don't want you to get me."

"Don't you? Wouldn't you like to be with someone who understands you?"

She turned away and put her champagne glass on a tray of empty glasses. "It was nice of you to bring me here, but it doesn't change anything. Antonio and I are having dinner tomorrow night."

"Does he know about it yet?"

"Yes. He called me as soon as he got back from New York."

"Carly, give it up. He's not the man for you."

"He is the man for me, and tomorrow night we'll share an apple tart for dessert," she told him, that desperate feeling returning to her stomach.

If she didn't get that apple into Antonio soon, she was afraid she never would. She was nowhere near as confident about him as she wanted Travis to think. But she had to succeed with Antonio. This gallery opening was the kind of thing Antonio did on a daily basis. He lived a cosmopolitan existence filled with champagne and beautiful people in beautiful clothes. That was the kind of life she wanted to lead, too.

"Travis?"

Carly looked up to see a tall, thin man with glasses bearing down on them.

"Roger, I didn't think you would make it," Travis said, shaking the other man's hand.

"I got delayed at the opera. Wouldn't you know it?"

"Actually, I wouldn't. I'm not much of an opera guy."

"I forgot. Please introduce me to your friend."

"Carly Wood, this is Roger Bentley."

Carly shook his hand, a little ill at ease because of his intense scrutiny. What on earth was this man looking at? Was there something stuck in her teeth?

"Beautiful," Roger murmured. "Just as you said. Did you enjoy the opening, Miss Wood?"

"Very much, thank you."

"Roger's brother is the owner of this gallery. You met him earlier, Carly," Travis said. "Roger owns another gallery in Union Square."

"A much larger one," Roger said with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Travis tells me that you are a painter. I would like to see some of your work."

"You -- you would?" she stuttered. She could hardly believe her ears. "But I'm just an amateur."

"I am interested in art, not in resumes. Travis tells me you're good. I would like to judge for myself. Could you bring me some of your paintings one day next week?"

"Yes, of course."

He pulled out a card and handed it to her. "I make no promises, you understand, but I will give you a fair and unbiased opinion, if you like."

"I would like that. Thank you."

"Wow," Travis said as Roger walked away.

"Wow," she echoed. "You told me your friend who works for a radio station got you the tickets."

"I didn't want to get your hopes up in case Roger couldn't make it."

"You told him about my paintings," she said in wonder. Then it occurred to her that he'd had no right to tell anyone about her paintings. "How could you do that?"

"Don't even pretend to be angry." He shook a finger at her. "This could be the opportunity of your lifetime. You're ambitious and realistic enough to recognize it. So say thank you, Travis, and then kiss me."

"I'm not going to kiss you."

"Do I have to do everything?" he asked with a dramatic sigh. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips, long and deep and filled with promise. "Now say thank you."

"For what?" she asked, completely befuddled. "For the kiss?"

"For the contact," he said with a laugh. "You don't need Antonio. You need me." And he kissed her again and again until someone laughed and said they'd better find a private room.

Carly broke away in embarrassment, still a small-town girl for all her pretense otherwise. She ran out of the gallery, not stopping until she hit the sidewalk. The cool air blew against her face in welcome relief. What had she been doing? What had she been thinking, kissing Travis like that? She didn't want him. She didn't. She wanted ... Why couldn't she remember his name? Antonio! That was it. She wanted Antonio.

But Travis's arms came around her waist and he nuzzled her neck with his lips, driving Antonio once again to the recesses of her mind.

"Don't," she protested.

"All right, I can wait."

She pulled away from him. "You'll be waiting a long time."

"You know what I love about you? Your stubbornness."

"Yeah, that's what you love."

"And your passion."

She swallowed nervously. "I'm not getting a room with you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You seem to be full of surprises tonight."

"I was thinking the same thing about you, but not just tonight. I wish I'd known about your painting before. It explains a lot, the way you can't settle down with a college major or a job. Because you know what you want to do, only you can't bring yourself to say it out loud. So you go about it in a very peculiar way, like trying to seduce Antonio. What is that all about anyway?"

"It's about love."

"It's about everything but love. And what of the other guys?"

"What other guys?" she asked with a shiver, for it was a foggy night in San Francisco, and she was getting chilly.

Before she could protest, Travis had whipped off his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders. It was a touching gesture for a man who was at that very moment questioning her about other guys.

"There was Karl and Maxwell and what was that other guy's name -- Steve?"

"Do you have a point?"

His expression turned serious. "My point is that you've been trying to grab onto every guy who passed through town, hoping he'd take you with him, only at the last second you don't go. Why is that?"

"Because those guys were wrong for me."

"They were, and so is Antonio." He rubbed his chin. "The one I can't figure out -- I shouldn't even say anything."

"Don't stop now. You seem to be on quite a roll."

"Gary."

"Gary?" she echoed, rocking back on her heels. "Rachel's Gary? What are you talking about?" Even as she asked the last question, her heart sank to her stomach. He couldn't possibly know.

"You tell me, Carly. Tell me what was going on between you and Gary."

"You don't have to stay with me," Rachel told Dylan as she paced back and forth in her living room. It was almost midnight, and Carly still hadn't come home from her date with Travis.

"I want to stay with you." Dylan sat on the couch, his eyes worried as he watched her move restlessly around the room. He hadn't said much since he'd driven her home almost an hour earlier.

"This probably wasn't the evening you were hoping for."

"I wasn't hoping for anything. We were living in the moment, remember?"

"It seems like a long time ago that we made..." Her voice faltered. How was it possible that she could go from being completely fulfilled to being completely shattered in only a matter of hours? And it always came back to Gary. The man was dead, but in the past few weeks he'd been more alive in her life than he had been during the past two years.

"Sit down, Rachel."

"I'm too restless."

"What are you going to do? Jump on Carly as soon as she walks through the door?"

"Maybe."

"You should think about this."

"I have thought about it." She ran an impatient hand through her hair. "And it makes me sick."

"I don't think anything happened between Carly and Gary."

"How can you say that?"

"I believe it."

Reluctantly she sat down next to him. "You think I'm wrong?"

"I think you're scared. It's easier to feel anger than to feel pain."

A car door slammed, and Rachel stiffened. "She's home." She looked into Dylan's eyes. "Don't leave, okay?"

"Are you sure you want me to be here?"

"Positive. And that's the only thing I am sure of."

He squeezed her hand. "I'll stay."

She stood up as Carly came in through the front door and paused in the entry.

"What's up?" Carly asked.

She stared at her younger sister, wondering how she could appear so innocent, so beautiful, so much like the little girl she'd grown up with. Since she'd discovered the teddy in Dylan's drawer, she had begun to think of Carly as a stranger, an enemy. But here, in person, Carly just confused her.

And Carly did look guilty about something, her eyes darting from Dylan to Rachel, then back again. "Is someone going to tell me what's going on?"

Rachel drew in a deep, steadying breath. "I found your white lace teddy."

"So?"

"The white lace teddy you bought last year -- the one I said was beautiful but too sexy for me? I found it."

"Okay," Carly said slowly. "Is there a problem?"

"Don't you want to know where I found it?"

"If you want to tell me."

"In Dylan's drawer."

Carly's jaw dropped as her gaze swung to Dylan. "I was never with Dylan. What did you tell her?" she asked him accusingly.

"Dylan brought it with him," Rachel said quickly, realizing they were going down the wrong road. "Dylan found the teddy in Gary's apartment." She squared her shoulders. "Do you want to tell me how it got there? How your teddy got in Gary's apartment?"

Carly turned white. "Oh, God, Rachel. It's not what you think!"

"Did you stay at Gary's apartment in the city?" Rachel asked, trying to hang on to her last bit of sanity. It was difficult, because Carly looked stricken, like a deer caught in the headlights. "Did you?" she repeated forcefully "Dammit, Carly, answer me."

"Yes, I stayed there one night. But Gary wasn't there. He was on a business trip. I must have left the teddy behind."

"When did you go there? Why did you go there?" She still wasn't sure she believed Carly's innocent explanation, not the way Carly avoided her gaze.

"It was last year sometime. I don't remember."

"You don't remember going to the city and staying in my husband's apartment?" Was that her voice shrieking? It must be, because Carly recoiled as if she'd been struck.

"Okay, it was a couple of weeks before Gary died. He offered me the apartment because I had a late date in the city and I didn't want to drive home that night. How could you think that Gary and I would... we wouldn't. That would be like incest." Carly turned to Dylan in desperation. "You believe me, don't you? Tell her it's crazy, Dylan. Gary was like my big brother. I never, ever ... I couldn't."

"You never told me you stayed there, and Gary didn't either. Why? What was the secret?" Rachel asked.

"All right," Carly said. "I should have told you before, but I've never been able to find the courage. Maybe I should just show you."

"Show me what?"

Carly hesitated,
then
said, "Follow me."

Rachel looked at Dylan, who shrugged. "I think we better follow her."

"Carly, what's this about? I just want a simple answer."

"There isn't a simple answer, but there is a complicated one. Do you want to know it or not?" She marched out of the room, leaving them to follow.

Rachel was surprised to find Carly leading her down to the basement. She was even more surprised to see Carly push a couple of boxes aside, turn on a light and motion her forward.

"This is my studio," Carly said.

Her studio?

Rachel walked around the wall of boxes and stopped abruptly. She couldn't believe the sight before her -- the painting on the easel, the sketches on the cardboard table, the boxes of art supplies, the other pictures lying against the wall. It was a strangely familiar sight, one she'd seen a long, long time ago. But that studio had belonged to her mother.

"What is all this?" Her throat was so tight she could barely get the words out.

"It's my art," Carly answered. "I'm a painter, Rachel. An artist -- like Mom."

Like Mom?

Rachel heard the words but couldn't process them. "I don't understand. You don't even like to draw."

"That's what I always told you, because that's what you wanted to hear, you and Dad."

"You lied?"

"Oh, yeah, I've lied, just about every day of my life for at least the last fifteen years."

Rachel put a hand to her temple. It was already throbbing from her earlier discovery. Now this! What was this?
A studio hidden away in her basement?
Her sister leading a secret life?
Maybe her husband doing the same?

She'd always thought of herself as living a normal, uneventful life tucked away in the safety of an apple orchard where nothing ever changed but the seasons. But it was only a facade, a cover-up for lies and secrets and strangers. Who were these people in her life? She was looking at her sister, but she couldn't even see her. So she turned away.

"Don't do that, Rachel -- please don't turn away," Carly pleaded. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd hate me the way you hate Mom."

Rachel turned back around. "She left us. She left us for her art. She broke up our family. How could you like it? How could you want to do it?"

"I don't know. It's just in me. It's in my blood. I found out a long time ago I was good at it. But I couldn't tell anyone. Daddy wouldn't even let us have crayons or watercolors in the house."