“Black tie optional, but you do look handsome in that tux of yours.” She batted her mascara-thickened eyelashes at him.
“I won’t tell Harvey you said that.”
“After fifty-two years of marriage, Harvey knows he’s the only man for me, so he don’t mind if I take a gander when it’s worthwhile.” She turned back to her keyboard.
Verna Hinkle had been born before anyone had ever heard of a personal computer, yet she had adapted to the new technology without a blink of her big blue eyeliner-ringed eyes. She wasn’t afraid of anyone in Sanctuary and guarded his inner-office door with the fierceness of a mother sow, which made her a pearl beyond price.
He sauntered through the inner door, tossed the paper bag on his desk, and neatly draped his jacket over the hanger on the coatrack. Grabbing a bottle of water from the minifridge built into the wall of oak bookcases, he sat at his desk and took a long swallow before he unwrapped the BLT.
He hadn’t planned to tour the stables with Julia, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Watching her take in the sights at Sharon’s had made him see everything differently himself. Her observations turned a bale of hay into a study in textures, while a sleeping barn cat became a series of graceful curves.
The feel of her skin when he touched her wrist had hypnotized him; he couldn’t stop stroking the satiny warmth of it. He had nearly kissed her last night in the car. She’d looked so deliciously tousled and sleepy, as though she was already in his bed. But despite the sensuality of her hair and lips, he sensed an undercurrent of innocence that stopped him. He had rescued her, and now he was cast in the role of her protector, not her ravisher.
Claire thought his problem was rescuing too many damsels in distress. His real problem was that he felt responsible for them afterward.
Waking his computer screen from sleep, he scanned down his e-mails, stopping at the one from Ben Serra. It was a request for a phone call.
“Ben, Paul Taggart here. It was a pleasure to talk with you yesterday.”
“Glad you called, Paul. I have good news. We have approval to make the Pro Bono Project nationwide right out of the gate. And you’re the man we want for the job.”
“Are you set on having it based in DC?” Paul asked, knowing the answer.
“We’ve even got the office space for it. One of the big law firms up here has agreed to give us a whole floor in their office building for well below market rates.”
Paul felt the last scrap of hope shrivel up and blow away as Ben went on to describe the floor in enthusiastic detail.
“So you’ll consider our offer?” Ben asked, as his catalog of features came to an end.
There was no way he could take the job, but Paul couldn’t bring himself to turn it down on the spot. “It’s a good one,” Paul said. “Let me think about it.”
“No one else can do this justice,” the other man said. “In fact, I’m not sure anyone else can do it at all.”
“I appreciate your confidence in a small-town lawyer,” Paul said.
Ben harrumphed. “You and I both know you’re hiding your light under a bushel in Sanctuary. You could get a job in a top law firm anywhere.”
Paul thanked him and ended the call with a stab of his finger. Balling his sandwich up in the waxed paper, he tossed it in the trash can. His appetite had vanished, and he’d be having dinner at his brother’s soon anyway.
Shoving his chair back, he paced over to the tall window looking out onto the ornately trimmed Victorians that lined Court Street. Right now he hated every curlicue of every architectural detail.
Ben was wrong about one thing. He wasn’t hiding in Sanctuary. He just couldn’t escape.
“Julia! I’m so glad you came by in person instead of calling.” Claire’s face lit up as she crossed the gallery’s main showroom to peck Julia on the cheek. “I have the most amazing idea for your paintings.”
When Sharon dropped her at the inn, Julia had found a message from Claire waiting for her. She had changed her damaged shirt and headed for the gallery on foot.
“An amazing idea?” There was something about the enthusiasm in Claire’s voice that made Julia uneasy.
Claire led her to a curved cream leather sofa set in the middle of the showroom. Seating herself in a matching chair, Claire leaned forward with her forearms braced on her knees. “I want to have a special by-invitation-only reception for you where we unveil your new work to the art world and thrill our clients with the opportunity to actually meet you. And I want to do it next Friday.”
The idea of being the center of attention in a room full of critical strangers made her stomach flip. “Next Friday! That seems really, really soon.”