talisman, something to conjure up when he needed to draw on his last ounce of strength.
He'd risked his life, sweated blood on foreign soil, so people like Maddy could live free and go after their dreams.
And last night she tells him she didn't do it?
That was not acceptable.
By God, if she came down those stairs and refused to let him help her, she'd have a fight on her hands. She was going to get her art career if he personally had to take her work around to every gallery in Santa Fe.
Just then, she appeared on the landing-and Maddy the ideal vanished in the face of Maddy the flesh-and-blood woman.
Good God, she dazzled him every time he looked at her.
As she skipped down the stairs, he forced himself to look away, with a stern reminder that he was on a mission that had nothing to do with getting close to Maddy on a personal level. Where this woman was concerned he needed a T-shirt that said BEEN
THERE, DONE THAT, HAVE THE SCARS TO PROVE IT.
Today was about setting the world back on its proper axis. Period. And if that meant ceasing hostilities, he'd do it. He'd be downright pleasant, if he had to.
He heard the truck door open. 'Okay,' she said, sounding breathless. 'How do I look?'
Even though he braced for it, a bolt of need punched through his defenses when he turned and saw her. She stood back a few paces so he could see all of her.
'Is this all right? I was going for artsy but professional.' Holding a leather portfolio out to one side, her purse to the other, she twirled about, showing off an outfit that was pure Maddy: a crocheted sweater that was more air than yarn, belted at the hips over a sage-colored tank dress that fell to her ankles.
His body tightened as his gaze ran the full length of her. 'I think the boots might be a bit much for summer.'
'Oh, no, they're just ankle boots.' Hitching up the skirt, she plopped her foot on the floorboard so he could see the 1890s brown-leather boots, an inch of frilly sock, and a lot of creamy bare leg.
'I see.' He cleared his throat.
'They're fine?'
'More than.'
'What about the hair?' She cocked her head back and forth. With Maddy, the hair was always the crowning touch, but today it was more glorious than ever, a full mane of wild red hair around her heart-shaped face. 'Too much? Too big? Too messy?'
'I don't think anyone will doubt you're from Texas, if that's what you're asking.'
'I knew it. Too big. I should pull it back. I have a scarf in here somewhere.' She started digging through her massive purse.
'Maddy, no, it's fine.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
'Okay, then.' She released a huff of air. 'I'm a little nervous.'
'I never would have guessed.' As he waited for her to get settled, he wondered which made her more nervous, the thought of showing her portfolio, or of spending the next half hour trapped- alone with him in his truck. Personally, he wasn't too thrilled with the second idea either. They'd both just have to make the best of it. 'Seat belt.'
'Oh. Yeah. Right.' She fastened the belt, then shifted toward him as he put the truck in gear and drove down the mountain. 'Okay, last question, so be honest. Did I manage to hide the circles under my eyes? Or can you tell I got zero sleep last night?'
'You didn't sleep well?' He felt a surprising stab of concern, remembering how emotionally wrung out she'd looked after their discussion.
'It's a little hard to sleep when your head doesn't even hit the pillow until four a.m.' She gave a breathy laugh. 'My mind's been busting with images the past few days, but I haven't had a chance to set up an easel and break out the paints. That's the problem with oils. You can't just pick them up and set them down on a lark. Then yesterday, when I was cleaning out the supply cabinets in the craft room, I ran across a bunch of oil pastels. How perfect is that?'
'I wouldn't know.' He gave her a questioning look, which was all she needed to launch into one of the chatty monologues that had always amused him. This one was about the history of oil pastels, and how artists like Monet and Renoir had used them as a means to make color sketches while hanging out in Paris cafes.
The neutral topic also provided a safe zone for them to operate. He welcomed it with the hope that the day wouldn't be too uncomfortable after all.
'Is that what you were doing last night?' he asked when her monologue ran out. 'Preliminary studies?'
'About a dozen of them. Heavens, it was so liberating. I haven't played with oil pastels in years. I'd forgotten how fun they can be. They're so fast, you don't have time to think about the rules. You just let the image spill out of you onto the paper with quick strokes and squiggles. I'll rein all that in when I do the real paintings, but it was a blast to just let it rip.'
'Rules?' He raised a brow. 'Since when did you care about the rules?'
'You get enough technique hammered into you by art profs, some of it's bound to stick.' She turned toward him. 'Okay, here's the deal.'
'The deal?'
'About today. I brought photographs of my work, just in case, but today is mostly for me to get a feel for the various galleries. If I'm not comfortable talking to any of the owners yet, I'll wait until I'm ready.'
'We'll see.'
'I'm serious, Joe. I worked in one of Austin's best galleries, so I know how to play this game. You don't blow your chance with a sloppy first impression. Plus I really want to turn some of the sketches from last night into paintings before I make my move. The images are good. They have an energy my work hasn't had in a long time.'
'I look forward to seeing them,' he said as he drove.
'Then we're agreed?'
'Hmm.'
'Great.' She let out a sigh of relief, then turned to take in the scenery. By the time they arrived in town, they'd established an amiable note for the day, even if it ran only skin deep.
Santa Fe. The artist's Mecca. Fabulous shops, trendy restaurants, historic buildings-and traffic jams! Maddy felt like a kid with her face pressed to the window as Joe maneuvered the black pickup through narrow streets originally designed for men on horseback. Finally, they inched their way onto the famous Canyon Road, where finding a parking place was as much a battle of wills as a game of chicken.
After Joe snagged a spot, Maddy stepped out of the truck and took a deep breath as she looked around. Adobe-houses-turned-art-galleries stood shoulder to shoulder as far as she could see in both directions. Tall spikes of flowers bloomed in tiny rock gardens, adding splashes of color along with turquoise window and door frames, and artwork displayed on porches. Over the tops of the flat roofs, the scalloped edge of mountains gave way to towering white clouds that dwarfed the land beneath them.
Everywhere she looked, her mind gathered images to be stored and painted later. Beyond the visible, though, was a feeling, a mystical call of the land that made her long to capture it with imagery.
Joe joined her on the narrow gravel path beside the line of parked cars. Wearing jeans, a denim shirt, and cowboy boots, he fit right in-and looked sexy as all get-out. 'Where would you like to begin?'
'I don't have a clue.' She laughed. 'Any suggestions?'
'That depends. How would you describe your current work?'
'Impressionistic landscapes, garden scenes, a few still lifes.' A steady stream of art lovers moved past them, stepping in and out of open doorways. 'I don't suppose you know the galleries well enough to have a favorite.'
He chuckled. 'I have about ten.'
