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Country Roads(74)

By:Nancy Herkness


She just didn’t want to leave the fascinating man whose waist she had her arms wrapped around. Anywhere she went without Paul was going to seem bleak.

So why not extend her stay in Sanctuary past the gala? Carlos couldn’t force her to go home. She could afford the inn and she had a free studio for now.

Would Paul want her to stay? If he did, for how long?

Julia faced the fact that she didn’t know much about how this sort of relationship worked. Paul was firmly settled here with his practice and his family and his strong connection to the town, so she would be the one moving, if it came to that. The idea didn’t conjure up any monsters.

But she would have to tell him the truth about herself at some point. She clutched harder at his waist.

Not yet. She wanted him to think she was perfect just a little longer.



The next morning, Julia settled into the heavy oak chair, rolling it forward so she could reach the mouse. When Paul had kissed her good-bye after a night in her bed, he’d advised her not to read Paxton’s blog until Claire vetted it. But both he and Claire underestimated her toughness when it came to her work.

The inn’s computer stood on a massive antique lawyer’s desk strewn with papers and brochures, lit by an old brass library lamp. The sleek lines of the large-screen monitor with its plastic base looked like a spaceship that had landed in a Victorian parlor. The office was empty and quiet. She wasn’t sure if someone had instructed the staff to give her privacy or whether they were all busy elsewhere.

She wound her hair into a bun and took a deep breath before she clicked on the Internet icon. The blog loaded quickly. Evidently, state-of-the-art equipment wasn’t considered an impediment to historic atmosphere.

Paxton Hayes didn’t feel the need for a catchy title for his blog; it was called simply “Paxton Hayes on Art.”

Julia Castillo Goes to the Dark Side was his headline. She chuckled at his unintentional double meaning.

Popular equine artist Julia Castillo has resurfaced with a new style, one that appears to have more depth and interest than her pleasantly bucolic earlier work.

“Ouch!” She wasn’t happy about the condescending description of her older paintings, but it didn’t destroy her, either. Maybe it was because she’d left that period behind, or maybe she had more confidence in herself, thanks to her new friends in Sanctuary.

The new work, which Castillo calls her “Night Mares,” offers psychological layering and a disturbing power that was absent from the idyllic landscapes she has created up until now. While this critic has always acknowledged its technical virtuosity, the painter’s earlier work invited no further analysis.

“And here I thought you were an art critic, not a psychiatrist.” Julia was starting to enjoy herself. The man was so pretentiously nasty it was impossible to take him seriously.

Hayes briefly recapped her career up to this point, inserting photos of Claire’s treasured painting and a couple of others that were especially well-known. There were references to pastoral pleasantness and her youth with an implication of immaturity, all subtle denigrations of the work, but it bounced off her newfound armor.

She frowned at his discussion of the run-up in prices of her work since the supply had been cut off two years ago. Hayes speculated about it being a deliberate ploy to create pent-up demand for her new and different style. He chose to ignore the carefully crafted explanation she and Claire had come up with: that she didn’t want to bring her new work to the market until she was satisfied with its quality.

“Jerk,” she said, but more in irritation than anger.

He quoted her a couple of times, accurately but out of context, so she came across as a combination of naive and airheaded. She skimmed through those.

Finally she got to the all-important paragraph.

Those interested in Castillo’s new work will have the opportunity to reach their own conclusions this Friday when the Gallery at Sanctuary will show five of the “Night Mares.” Despite the gallery’s remote location among the Appalachian Mountains of West Virginia, this blogger confesses to having his curiosity piqued and plans to attend.

Julia whooped in triumph. Not only was Hayes coming, he had announced it to the entire art world!

“Everything okay?” Lyle Lee, one of the inn’s two owners, poked his head in the office door.

Julia knew she was grinning like an idiot. “I’ve been insulted up, down, and sideways, but the jerk is coming to my show.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “He must be an important jerk.”

“He’s influential in the circles we needed to reach on short notice.” She stood up, mentally congratulating herself on being unaffected by Hayes’s criticisms.