Darknight(77)

That seemed to be that. I could tell he didn’t want me to press the issue, so I decided to let it alone for now. Once we did have the actual date and time from Eli Michaels — February 27th — I emailed Aunt Rachel and told her the news. She could ignore it if she chose. The decision lay with her. At least the opening would be in Sedona, in neutral territory. I didn’t think anything in the world could have induced her to set foot in Flagstaff, except maybe a phone call from me saying it had all been a terrible mistake and that I needed her to pick me up right now. That might do the trick.

But since that wasn’t going to happen, it seemed a meeting in Sedona was my best bet for seeing her any time soon. Not that I was going to hold my breath.

The rest of February whizzed by, punctuated by a lovely Valentine’s Day where Connor and I both took the day off and went up to the Snow Bowl and had lunch in the snow, then came back to town and spent the afternoon making love before going out for another amazing dinner. The fateful Thursday arrived, and we drove down to Sedona, twisting our way through Oak Creek Canyon. It had flurried a little the night before, but the narrow highway was clear, moonlight gleaming on the snow between the trees.

I honestly didn’t know what to expect from that evening. Sure, I’d been to art openings in Jerome, but they were friendly, folksy affairs for the most part. This was a very different sort of thing, the kind of event announced with glossy postcards sent all over Sedona and Flagstaff, the kind where I actually went out and bought a new outfit, a slinky black wrap dress and boots with actual heels. Connor fussed and worried and ended up wearing his usual dark sweater over jeans and boots, but it worked for him. Besides, no one expects the artist to show up wearing a suit.

The gallery was almost intimidatingly elegant, with its muted lighting and glossy wooden floors. It was huge, too, so big that Connor’s exhibit only took up one large room — and he was displaying a lot of paintings, fifty in all. Despite the size of the space, people already crowded the exhibit hall.

I blinked, realizing I recognized a good number of the attendees from the Wilcox holiday potluck. For some reason, I really hadn’t expected that. Neither had Connor, apparently; he looked at them in surprise, even as Lucas approached us with a grin, plastic flute of champagne clutched in one hand.

“This is amazing,” he said. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from us all these years!”

Connor managed a watery smile. “Well, I did get my degree in studio art.”

“True, but I suppose I never really thought about it. I mean, my degree’s in anthropology, but it doesn’t mean I use it.” He transferred his attention me. “And I’m guessing you’re the one who coaxed him out of his shell?”

“Well….” I didn’t want to tell Lucas just how much poking and prodding had been involved. That was between Connor and me. The important thing was that he had finally gotten his art out there for the world to see.

But somehow Lucas seemed to guess, because his brows lifted, and he shot a sly glance at Connor. “That’s about what I thought. As they say, behind every great man is a woman. Good job, Angela.” Then he looked past us, surprise flitting over his features. “Looks like your brother actually did decide to show up. I wasn’t sure.”

“Great,” Connor muttered.

“I’ll head him off at the pass,” Lucas said, and clapped Connor on the shoulder before moving off toward the entrance to the exhibit hall.

I shifted my position slightly so I could see where he was heading. Sure enough, there was Damon, looking elegant in a black jacket over a dark gray dress shirt and jeans. At his side was the young woman I first saw at the holiday potluck. Now that I could get a better look at her, I saw that she had the graceful bone structure most of the Wilcoxes seemed to share, but her hair and eyes were much lighter.

“That’s Jessica, right?” I whispered to Connor.

His gaze tracked to where I was looking, and then slid back toward me. “Yes.”

“She’s pretty.”

“I suppose so. Damon isn’t the type to attach himself to unattractive women.”

Which didn’t surprise me much. “And she’s another cousin?”

“Yeah. Her great-great-whatever grandmother was Jeremiah Wilcox’s younger sister. Jessica’s always had a crush on Damon — I know some of the cousins she went to high school with used to tease her about it.”

That seemed strange to me, that she’d be pining after someone so much older than she was, but attraction was a weird thing. So maybe she really didn’t mind being the sacrificial lamb, so to speak.