Country Roads(124)

“Wrongheaded maybe, but not old,” she said, smiling.

He excused himself from his company and walked her over to a quiet corner. “I see you here, surrounded by people who respect and admire you, looking so beautiful, and I understand I have hidden you away for too long.”

Julia shook her head. “You gave me time to prepare for this. I wasn’t ready before.”

“So now I must step back and let others carry you into the future.” He gestured around the crowded gallery. “I am proud to have been part of it.”

“You’re still part of it, part of me,” Julia said, touching the spot over her heart. “As exciting as all this is, I kept wondering where you were. I wanted to share it with you.” And despite all their problems, with Paul, but he must have decided he couldn’t bear to see her after all.

Carlos cupped her face between his hands. “You are a good girl, mi querida. And a great artist, of course,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Mr. Castillo, a pleasure to see you,” Claire said, offering her hand to Carlos. Julia watched in amusement as he raised it to his lips and Claire looked coy. She recovered quickly, saying to Julia, “Paxton Hayes just arrived. He’s in the circle of Night Mares now.”

Julia tried to peer through the crowd. “Does he look like his blog photo?”

“If you add ten years and glasses,” Claire said. “He’s very tall and thin.”

“Let me guess. He’s wearing black,” Julia said.

“He’d be drummed out of the society of New York art critics if he wasn’t. Ah, there he is, headed for Darkside’s portrait. Might as well go hear his verdict.” Claire headed toward the scarecrow of a man standing in front of the single painting.

Julia followed, running through the possible scenarios she and Claire had discussed. Neither one of them expected Hayes to tell them what he really thought, but Claire wanted to feed him certain information and hope it made its way into his blog.

Just before they reached him, Claire halted and put her mouth next to Julia’s ear. “You should know that three of your paintings have sold already. I’m reserving one for Tim now that everyone else has had their chance to make an offer. And several people have given Belle sealed bids for the auction of Darkside’s portrait tomorrow night.”

Elation flared, temporarily banishing the misery of Paul’s absence. She savored the knowledge that her crazy last-ditch pilgrimage to Sanctuary had been justified. She pumped her fist.

Claire’s musical laugh rang out. “Exactly.”

The sound brought Paxton Hayes’s head around, and Claire put her hand on Julia’s back to move her toward the critic. “Paxton, you and Julia have already met by telephone, so you don’t really need an introduction.”

“Still, it is an honor to shake such a talented hand,” Paxton said, surprising Julia with a firm, warm grip.

“Thank you for traveling here on such short notice,” Julia said.

“So, I have to ask,” he said, “are all of these paintings the same horse?”

“Yes and no.” Claire had predicted this question and told her to be honest, even if it sounded farfetched.

He raised an eyebrow.

“The horse in the Night Mares came from in here.” She tapped her temple and wished she hadn’t, as it set her headache throbbing harder. “It kept coming at me and coming at me, so I kept painting it. Then I came here and found my Night Mare in the flesh. Turns out he’s a stallion, but Night Stud didn’t sound quite right.”

Hayes’s lips thinned into an almost smile. He nodded toward Darkside. “So this is the real horse.”

“Up close and personal.”

“Interesting story,” he murmured, his eyes on the portrait. “The Night Mares are all about power and fear. This one is subtle.” He turned back to Julia. “Quite a range.”

“Thank you,” she said, although she wasn’t clear if it was a compliment or not.

A rise in the volume of conversation made all three of them glance toward the front of the room. Julia gasped when she saw Paul cleaving through the crowd, headed straight toward her. As he passed, people looked him up and down and turned back to their companions to comment. She understood their agitation because he was dressed in his leather motorcycle jacket, faded jeans, and heavy black boots. He carried two helmets and another leather jacket. He paid no attention to the disturbance behind him, his eyes never leaving her face.

The room tilted, and the voices faded to a murmur. She fought against it, locking her gaze on Paul like a lifeline, but she felt her knees begin to buckle as blackness closed over her.