Take Me Home (37 page)

The only person she hadn’t lied to was Davis when she told him she was giving him the commission on selling the Castillo. He tried to turn it down, but she felt she owed it to him. She had also cleared Tim’s request to keep the painting at the gallery until his house was finished.

She heard the front door open and quickly sat up straight. When she saw Paul stroll into the gallery with a devilish grin on his face, she nearly burst into tears. She was not in the mood for verbal sparring.

As he approached the desk, his smile vanished. He sat down in the chair across from her and said, “You look like your dog died.”

She just shook her head.

He reached out to where her hand lay on the glass top and covered it with one of his own. “Claire, this is Paul, your oldest friend. Talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

He frowned at her. “Is it about Dr. Tim? Because I was just yanking his chain yesterday. I saw you two at the 4-H shindig. I wish you looked at me that way, but I know when I’m beaten. It’s the first thing you learn as a politician.”

“You’re sweet to try to make me laugh,” Claire said, smiling as the tears broke loose and streamed down her face.

“Jesus, Claire, what is it?” He pulled a package of tissues out of his pocket, drew one out, and handed it to her. “You never cry.”

She took the tissue and blotted her cheeks, her smile twisting as she thought of how many tears she had shed last night. “Life is full of irony. I’ve been counting the days until I could go back to New York, and now all I want to do is stay here.”

“And you can’t stay because...?”

She choked on a sob. “Tim doesn’t want me to.”

“Well, as a former mayor of Sanctuary, I can assure you that Dr. Arbuckle does not have the power to keep you away.”

“Oh yes, he does. I offered to stay to see what happened between us.”

“And he turned you down.” He handed her the whole package of tissues. “Damn fool!”

“I know. I don’t know why I did it, except I thought we might have something together.”

“I meant Arbuckle is a damn fool.” Paul sat back. “You know about his wife, right?”

“Of course. Everyone does.”

“Think about it. The woman he’s married to—and we assume whom he loves—chooses death over staying with him.”

“But—”

He held up his hand. “I’m not saying he did anything to make her do that. I’m just pointing out what it must feel like to him. Guilt, blame, loyalty to her memory, the need to protect himself from being hurt like that again—it’s all got to be boiling around inside him. Then you come along and offer him another shot, and he’s too screwed up to grab it.”

“So does that mean I should stay and wait?”

“No. It means you should make decisions that will protect you. He may never heal from that kind of mess. How badly do you love him?”

“Badly? That’s an interesting choice of words.” She looked down at the soggy wad of Kleenex in her hand. “Badly enough that I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“That will pass.” He considered a moment. “Do you love him so badly you would give up the career you’ve wanted your entire life on the off chance he might love you back someday in some possibly damaged way?”

“When you put it like that, it seems pretty unrealistic.” Especially when she’d just gotten her professional confidence back.

“Here’s the other thing to consider. You just came out of an ugly divorce. Could Tim be a rebound relationship? In my experience, those don’t usually last.”

“In your experience?”

He sat back. “My experience as a lawyer. I’ve handled a lot of divorces.”

Everything Paul said was true, but then she thought of Tim cradling her in his arms in the moonlight, Tim touching Willow like she was worth a million dollars, Tim cooking pancakes with a Disney Princess towel draped over his shoulder, Tim driving like a madman when Holly was in trouble.

And she didn’t care about careers or rebounds or wives who killed themselves. She just wanted to make him love her as much as she loved him. “Oh God, I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t give you an answer, especially since I’m not an entirely disinterested party.” He stood up. “All I can advise is to take care of yourself. You deserve that.”

“I appreciate the breath of sanity.”

Walking around the desk, he gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “If you need a friend’s company later on, call me. I’ve got some good bourbon.”

The thought of drinking herself into oblivion was all too tempting. “I might just take you up on that.”

A look of regret crossed his face before he turned and walked out of the gallery.

Claire made a quick trip to the bathroom to wash her face and repair her makeup. She finished just in time to meet some repeat clients. In less than half an hour, they had bought two of the largest Len Boggs canvases. Ordinarily, she would have been waltzing around the gallery at the thought of the commission, but she kept remembering Tim in his flannel shirt and jeans as he stood in front of one of the paintings she’d just sold. How little she’d known about him then, and yet she’d felt that tug of attraction, which had turned into a bond so strong it was tearing her apart to break it.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she grabbed it with a sense of relief.

“Ms. Parker? This is Maria Fannucci at Merrill Lynch. The wire transfer you were expecting just came through.”

So Tim had bought the Castillo in spite of their rift last night. She had wondered if he would still want it. In any case, she certainly hadn’t expected him to come up with such a large sum of money so quickly.

The broker went on to read the amount transferred, and Claire gasped. “Oh my God!”

“Is there a problem?” Maria asked. “Is the deposit incorrect?”

“It’s too much. Way too much.”

“I’ll double-check it with the sending bank.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I think I know what happened. Thanks.”

Claire put the phone down gently even though she wanted to throw it across the room. Tim had paid her almost twice the price she’d asked for the Castillo.

“Damn you, Tim!” she muttered. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

The pricing of art was very subjective. There was no fixed monetary value for any painting. It depended on a variety of factors ranging from something as straightforward as the size of the canvas to an idea as nebulous as the painting’s perceived significance within the artist’s entire body of work.

If she had put it up for auction, the Castillo might have brought even more than the amount Tim had transferred to her, mostly because there was a small, finite supply and a large demand for the artist’s work.

However, that did not change the fact that he had taken matters into his own hands and overridden her determination of a fair price.

She also couldn’t help wondering how he had come up with so much cash on such short notice. He had just bought a thriving veterinary practice and was building a substantial house. How could he afford to pay more than the asking price for an extremely expensive work of art?

She would have to call him.

Tim had snatched five minutes to wolf down a sandwich in the medications storeroom when his cell phone vibrated in the breast pocket of his lab coat. He swallowed and pulled the phone out to check the caller ID. When he saw Claire’s name, he felt an almost physical pain.

He had spent the night staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself he could offer her what she deserved from a man. He had failed. That didn’t stop him from desperately wanting her to stay and take what little he had to give.

He knew why she was calling, and he had marshaled all his arguments about the money already. He punched the
Answer
button just before the call went to voice mail. “Hello, Claire.”

“Hi, Tim.” There was a second’s hesitation before her voice came through strong and clear. “I just heard from my broker that the wire transfer hit my account. You paid almost twice what I asked for.”

Her voice twisted the ache in his chest, and he leaned against the metal shelving with his eyes closed. “I did some research of my own. You asked too little for the painting, so I adjusted to the market value.”

“There’s no set market value for art. You know that. Castillo could release a hundred paintings tomorrow, and yours would plummet in value. Besides, you just bought a new business, and you’re building a house. You shouldn’t really spend all that money on a painting.”

It warmed him to know she was worried about his finances. “You don’t have to be concerned about me going broke. Before I went into veterinary medicine, I did cancer research. I have a couple of lucrative medical patents.”

“Oh”—another slight hesitation before he heard her draw in a breath—“it doesn’t matter. I’ll send you a check for the difference.”

“I’ll tear it up.”

“Fine, I’ll deliver cash.”

“It’ll go in the fireplace.”

“Tim!”

“Claire!” he echoed back. “I don’t want to look at the painting and feel like I took advantage of a friend.” It killed him to use that word when he knew she was much more than that.

“You’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me after last night, are you?” Her voice was low, and he could tell that she was forcing herself to ask the question. “Because that would be ridiculous and unnecessary.”

He had done it because this was untainted. He could present it to her with a whole heart, knowing he had done the right thing for the woman he loved so much he had to push her away. “No, this was a business deal, pure and simple. You have a painting I want, and I paid you the going rate for it.”

He wanted to slam his head against the steel support to counteract the agony of lying to her. He had spent hours debating how much he could get away with giving her for the Castillo, both to assuage his guilt about hurting her and to help her in the future when he wasn’t around.

“I don’t really believe you,” she said. “But I’m going to take the money for Holly’s sake. Thank you for your generosity.”

His shoulders sagged with relief. “You’re welcome, but don’t go back to New York thinking I overpaid. That painting’s a masterpiece. It doesn’t matter how many more Castillo creates.”

“You told me persistence always pays off, didn’t you?” she said, and her voice had softened almost as though she were smiling. “You got your painting, after all. I’m glad it’s going to you because you understand why it’s so brilliant.”

“You still have visitation rights.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen.”

Now he heard the hurt, and it sliced through him. “My door’s always open. Whenever you feel comfortable coming through it, you’ll be welcome.”

She sighed. “I know you mean that. I’ll let you get back to work,” she said. “Thank you again. This will mean a lot to my sister.”

“No more thanks. I’m getting exactly what I wanted.” He was such a liar.

“Frank’s in Mexico—with his girlfriend,” Holly said when Claire found her in the kitchen. The scent of warm chocolate chip cookies permeated the air, and Claire had a vague thought that her sister must be feeling better if she was baking. “The girls are out in the yard, so we can talk.”

Claire dragged her mind back to Holly’s situation. She’d been so busy wallowing in her own misery that she hadn’t spared a thought for her sister’s very real concerns. “How do you know?”

“Chief McClung has a friend in Immigration. They checked on Frank’s passport and found out he’d flown into Guadalajara yesterday with a female companion. That means I’ll never get the money back.”

“It also means you won’t have to worry about Frank showing up drunk and violent, and that’s worth every penny of the money he stole from you.” Claire had gone by her house to pick up the checkbook for her brokerage account. She held it up. “Besides, we’re settled financially. Tim bought the Castillo, and the funds are in my account as of today.”

“Already? How did he get that much money so fast?”

“Evidently he holds some medical patents that produce income. Anyway, I thought we’d go to the bank tomorrow and pay off your mortgage.”

Holly put down the spatula. “I don’t know how to tell you what this means to me. I feel free—and safe. I didn’t realize how fear hung over me like this dark cloud all the time. And now it’s gone.” She looked around the room. “This is
my
kitchen, and no one can take it away from me.”