Country Roads(5)

“That means you’re doing it for free, right?”

He nodded.

“I guess I can afford a free lawyer. You’re hired,” she said, holding out her hand. As with the first time they’d shaken hands, he was surprised by the strength of her grip. She was such a slip of a thing; he didn’t expect to feel such muscle in those slim fingers. “Where should I start?”

“How about your full name? I need to put it on the contract.”

That killed the imp dancing in her eyes, and he felt a pang of regret when she dropped her gaze to her lap again.

“Is that covered by the confidentiality too?”

“Sure. I’ll call you Madame X in public.” He wanted to coax the glow back into her face.

Instead she kept her eyes on her hands. “My name’s Julia Castillo.”





Chapter 2




AFTER A LONG moment of silence, Julia lifted her head to find him staring at her as though she were some strange specimen from outer space. “The painter Julia Castillo?” Paul said, astonishment ringing in his voice.

“You’ve heard of me?” Julia asked. Then the reason struck her. “Oh right, you know Claire Parker, er, Arbuckle.”

“Your paintings are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and you’re driving that rust bucket?” His gaze narrowed. “But you haven’t produced any new work in, what, two years. Is that the problem? You’ve run through all your money?”

Now she was staring at him as disbelief smacked into her. “What do you mean I haven’t done anything in two years?” She’d been painting nonstop until a week ago.

He straightened away from his lounging pose against the door, his eyes lit by an interest focused entirely on her. She had been intimidated by his height before, but now she was more worried about his mind. She sensed it would be impossible to hide anything from this man. Shifting sideways in her seat, she tried to put a little more distance between them.

“Claire has one of your paintings from back when she worked in New York. She says it’s a masterpiece, and she wishes she had more to sell to her clients. But she hasn’t been able to get her hands on anything new in a couple of years, despite the high demand for your work.”

Julia forgot her concerns about Paul Taggart as shock punched her in the gut. Her uncle had told her people didn’t like the changes in her style, so her new work wasn’t selling. He kept trying to persuade her to go back to the way she used to paint. He didn’t understand she couldn’t.

When he’d seen her most recent set of paintings, he had told her he wouldn’t even offer them to a gallery because they would ruin her reputation. Then he’d gently questioned her about how well she was sleeping, whether she was upset about something, and her diet. She knew he was just concerned about her health, but she hated the implication that her brain might be malfunctioning in a way that affected her work.

She’d spent a horrible night crying, pacing, and doubting herself before she decided to make a last-ditch effort to protect her art. So she had headed for Sanctuary because Claire Parker had been the first art dealer to buy her paintings, back when Claire worked at a big gallery in New York City.

“I take it those paintings in the back of your car are not the only new ones you’ve done in the last two years?”

Paul Taggart’s deep voice cut through the agitation of her thoughts. “No, I’ve been working steadily.” In fact, she had been excited about the direction her work was taking despite her uncle’s criticism and implications. She could almost feel the power flowing from her inner vision through the brush and onto the canvas. It was a darker vision, full of risk, but it came from deep within her. That’s what had given her the courage to strike out for Sanctuary on her own.

“But your agent hasn’t been selling any of it?”

She shook her head. “He says people don’t like it because it’s different from my previous paintings.”

“It sounds like we need to do a little investigation of your agent.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Julia, he’s either incompetent or hiding something from you. There’s a huge demand for your work. Even I know that and I’m not part of the art world.”

“He’s my uncle, almost like a father to me.” She felt tears well in her eyes and turned away so he wouldn’t see them. “Why would he do this?”

Paul’s voice was gentle. “It’s a sad fact that I see in my line of work all the time. Family members aren’t always honest with each other, especially when it involves large sums of money.”