Millionaires' Destinies(191)

Since he wasn’t accomplishing a blasted thing, he stalked back inside, picked up the phone and punched in a familiar number. Two could play at this game.

“Studio Supplies,” Mitchell Gaylord said.

“Mitch, it’s Ben Carlton.”

“How are you? You can’t possibly be out of supplies. I just sent a shipment out there a few weeks ago.”

“This isn’t for me,” Ben said. “Here’s what I need.”

Ten minutes later he hung up and sat back, satisfied. “That ought to get her attention.”





Kathleen was feeling very smug about her little forays to the country. Maybe it was ridiculous to drive all that way just to torment Ben with coffee and a few pastries, but she had a feeling it would pay off eventually. He’d feel so guilty—or get so annoyed—he’d have to let her poke around among his paintings just to get rid of her and restore his much-desired serenity.

She was in the back of her shop planning the Christmas decorations, which needed to be up by the first of the week, when the bell over the front door rang. She went out expecting to find some browser who’d come inside primarily to get out of the cold. She rarely got serious customers this early in the day.

Instead, she found a delivery man.

“You Kathleen Dugan?” he asked, looking from her to his clipboard and back again.

“Yes, but I’m not expecting anything.”

“Hey, Christmas is coming. ’Tis the season of surprises.” He handed her the clipboard. “Sign here and I’ll be right back.”

Kathleen signed the page and waited for his return, feeling an odd sense of anticipation, the kind she vaguely recalled feeling as a very small child at Christmas, before things with her mother and father had gone so terribly wrong.

When the deliveryman walked back inside, her mouth gaped. He was pushing a cart laden with what looked like an entire art store. There was an easel there, a stack of canvases, a huge wooden box that could only contain paints, a ceramic holder filled with brushes. Everything was premium quality, meant for the professional artist.

“This can’t possibly be for me,” she said, but she knew it was. She also knew who had sent it. This was Ben’s retaliation for her little hit-and-run visits to the farm.

The delivery man stood patiently waiting.

“What?” she asked, half-frozen by a mix of anticipation, annoyance and something she could only identify as fear.

“Do you want this in the middle of the floor or somewhere else?” he asked patiently.

In the basement, she thought, locked away where it couldn’t torment her. Aloud, she said, “In the back room, I suppose. Just pile it up anywhere.”

When he emerged a moment later, he had a card in his hand. “This came with it. Happy holidays, Ms. Dugan.”

She accepted the card, then dropped it, her nerves jittery. She managed to get a tip for the man from the cash register, then continued to stare at the card long after he’d gone.

Just then the phone rang.

“Yes,” she said, distracted.

“Is it there yet?” Ben asked bluntly.

“You!” she said, every one of her very raw emotions in her voice.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Have you read the card?”

“No.”

“Call me back when you have,” he said, then hung up in her ear.

She stared at the phone, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Instead of doing either one, she dutifully opened the card.

“For every canvas you complete and show me, I’ll show you one of mine,” he’d written.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. She hadn’t thought it possible, but Ben had managed to find the one thing on earth that could get her to back off.





When Ben still hadn’t heard back from Kathleen by late afternoon, he heaved a resigned sigh, climbed into his car and faced the daunting rush-hour traffic to head to Alexandria. Apparently his gift hadn’t gone over the way he’d anticipated.

Or maybe it had. He’d meant to shake her up, though, not infuriate her. Judging from her lack of response, he worried he’d done both.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was driving him to head over there and find out. It could be intense curiosity, or maybe a death wish.

He found the gallery already closed by the time he arrived. The window shade in the door was drawn, but he could still see lights in the back of the shop, which suggested that Kathleen was still on the premises.

As he had once before, he banged on the door and kept right on banging until there was some sign of movement inside.

He heard the tap of her footsteps coming toward the door, saw her approaching shadow on the other side of the shade, but the door didn’t immediately swing open.