Country Roads(13)
“Talk to me, Julia. I’m your lawyer, so you can tell me what’s going on behind those big green eyes.” His long fingers circled his glass and he took a sip of the cola in it.
“I’ve decided to stay here for a couple of days, but not at Claire’s. I can pay for my own hotel. And I want you to give me some legal advice about the problem with my uncle. For real this time, not pro bono.”
His eyebrows rose. “So you’re taking the advance?”
“I have a credit card. I just didn’t want to use it.”
“You didn’t want your uncle to know where you had gone.”
She nodded.
“Here you go. The best chicken salad in West by gosh Virginia.” Mrs. Bostic slid their plates onto the woven placemats. “You know, Paul got this library built when he was mayor. You wouldn’t be sitting here enjoying the view without a whole lot of time, effort, and persuasion on his part.”
Julia swiveled to take in the large brick building behind her. It was gracefully designed to hug its hilltop setting, yet it had the presence a repository of knowledge should. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“All I did was organize a lot of good, hardworking folks,” Paul said, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. She liked the fact he didn’t want to take the credit.
“So you’re new in town?” the hostess asked Julia.
“I just arrived today.” She took a deep breath before holding out her hand and saying, “I’m Julia Castillo.”
“She’s one of Claire’s artists,” Paul said.
“Well, I’ll be. You painted that pretty picture of the horses over to the gallery. My daughter likes it so much, she goes to see it at least once a week.” The woman pumped Julia’s hand.
“Really? That’s nice to hear.” She meant it. She realized the isolation she lived in had protected her from the worry of criticism, but it had also deprived her of the pleasure of people’s appreciation.
“Yup. She says it’s so peaceful she just wants to lay down on the grass with the horses and forget all her troubles,” Mrs. Bostic continued.
Fear clenched a fist around Julia’s throat. Mrs. Bostic’s daughter would hate her new work; there was nothing peaceful about it. Julia forced herself to take a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, trying to work the tension out.
The older lady leaned down to murmur something in Paul’s ear. Smiling, he shifted his gaze to Julia, saying, “I don’t think she’d mind at all.”
“Would you autograph my order pad for my daughter? She’d be mighty pleased. Her name’s Sherry.”
Julia felt a nip of surprise. “Wow, this is the first time I’ve ever been asked for my autograph.” She took the pad Mrs. Bostic held out, trying to think of something to say. Just writing her name seemed sort of arrogant, but her mind was blank about what to add to it. Evidently, she wasn’t good at this kind of interaction. She tapped the pen against her cheek for several seconds before she gave up and did a quick sketch of a horse’s head, signing her name under it. “I hope that’s okay.”
The woman flipped the pad around and crowed with delight. “Her very own horse picture by a famous artist. She’ll be chuffed.”
“You may have set a dangerous precedent,” Paul said, as the hostess showed the pad to another diner. “Your fans will be demanding sketches with every autograph.”
Julia had to look away quickly as Mrs. Bostic’s audience turned around to stare at her. The warmth of gratification warred with a flutter of nerves as she found herself an object of attention. “That’s fine with me. I’m better at drawing than writing.”
To ward off her self-consciousness, she bit into the sandwich. The burst of flavor on her hunger-sensitized palate made her close her eyes to savor the taste. She opened them to find Paul lounging back in his chair, a slight smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.
“It’s more fun to watch you enjoy the experience.”
She took another bite, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. “It’s rude to watch someone else chew.”
He chuckled and picked up his own sandwich, sinking those dazzling white teeth into it. She couldn’t help watching the strong column of his throat as he swallowed. An image of herself pressing her lips against the skin of his neck bloomed in her mind and she choked.
“Slow down,” he said, pushing her iced tea toward her. “You don’t need to devour it all in one bite.”
She coughed even harder as a flush climbed up from her chest to her cheeks. She hated having a redhead’s complexion.