Country Roads(111)

As the engine noise faded into the quiet night, she jogged back down the steps and onto the sidewalk, striding along the quiet main street of Sanctuary, her tears giving the streetlamps halos. The headlights of a cruising car caught her in their glare, and she turned toward a dimly lit window display in one of the closed stores, swiping at the wetness on her cheeks.

Arguing with Paul was like running head-on into that plate glass window. She hurled herself against his conviction that he knew better and bounced off, rubbing her head at the pain of the impact. How could she break the damned glass and get through to him?

She knew how: tell him about her epilepsy. Maybe he would pity her, but at least he would understand she wasn’t the perfect woman he kept holding her up as. He’d see her as flawed, as weak, as someone who needed his protection.

“No!” She slapped the glass with her open palms, the impact stinging.

Playing the pity card was out. She’d worked too damned hard to tear off Carlos’s suffocating cocoon.

She started walking again, turning down the street to her temporary studio. She leaped up the three porch steps and slammed open the door. Light from the neighboring houses filtered through the glass walls at the back of the room so she could see her painting of Darkside on its easel. In the dimness, his gaze looked uncertain, confused.

She mashed the light switches to see if the impression lingered when the picture was better lit. “That’s not right,” she said, frowning. Darkside had never been uncertain. He’d been willing to pay the price to keep his spirit from being broken. There was strength in his anger.

She understood and she was going to stay pissed off as long as she could. Because the alternative was to believe Paul didn’t want her or her love.

Whirling, she stomped over to the counter to pick up her palette and brushes. By the time she was done, Darkside was going to be the scariest horse in the world of art.





Chapter 29




JULIA?”

A woman’s soft voice tugged Julia out of her dream-infested sleep. Her eyelids felt so heavy, she could only manage to open them to slits. She tried to lift her head but yelped as neck muscles that were contorted in an uncomfortable position spasmed. A blanket of misery weighed her down even though she was too groggy to remember why.

“I’m here,” she croaked, realizing she was huddled on the derelict sofa in her studio. She connected the voice with Claire and struggled to push herself upright.

“Oh my God, are you all right? What happened?” Claire knelt in front of her, her face set in lines of concern.

Julia kneaded the knot of discomfort in her shoulder. “I painted all night and was too tired to walk back to the inn. What time is it?”

Claire slid onto the couch beside her. “A little after ten. I’ve gotten a few worried phone calls. Where’s your cell phone?”

“It might be in the garbage can.” She’d turned it off and tossed it there to keep herself from waiting for a call that wouldn’t come. Now she remembered why she felt so awful. “Did Carlos call you?”

“And Paul.”

His name sent a jagged edge of pain ripping through her. “He has some nerve worrying about me.”

Claire’s gaze turned soft. “He practically begged me to find you.”

“We had a disagreement.”

“Hmm. Verna told me he looked like someone dragged him through the woods backwards, and you look like, well, it’s hard to describe.”

“That bad?”

Claire smiled. “Your eyelids are red and swollen. You have paint pretty much everywhere, including your eyebrows, and I wouldn’t want to be the one who has to untangle your hair.”

That sent another jab through Julia as she remembered the feel of Paul’s fingers gently working the snarls out of her hair. She hitched in a breath as she absorbed the blow. Changing the subject seemed like a good idea. “What did Carlos want?”

There was a moment of silence before Claire answered. “To let you know the extra paintings you requested are on the way here.” She scanned Julia’s face. “I’ve known Paul for years, and he has a protective streak a mile wide. Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Julia shook her head, trying to retrieve some of the anger she’d felt the night before. Maybe she’d poured it all out onto the canvas. Her gaze strayed to the easel, and she sat up straight.

Darkside glared out at the world with a ferocity she thought would make most viewers take a step backward.

Claire followed the direction of her glance and gasped. “That’s how you see your whisper horse?”

“One side of him. It’s his anger that gave him the strength to survive in a bad situation.” Satisfaction warmed Julia as she took in the changes she’d made to her work.