As he stepped into the barn, Mack noted it was a good ten degrees cooler inside, despite the sun shining through a skylight overhead. As Mack had expected, Ben was staring at a half-finished canvas, his brush poised in midair, a faraway look in his eyes. Something told Mack that look had less to do with the work on his easel than with a sad memory of the tragedy that had sent him scurrying to the country in the first place.
“Hey, bro,” Mack said, startling Ben, who took a long moment to shake off his mood before he finally met Mack’s gaze.
“Has the sky started to fall?” Ben inquired. “Surely that must be the case for you to drive all the way out here on a weekday.”
“Nope. As far as I know, the sky’s still in place. I’m here on an impulse.” He performed a visual search of the studio, then gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “I was hoping you’d have a naked model in your studio.”
His brother grinned, the last shadows finally disappearing from his eyes. “I paint landscapes,” Ben reminded him. “Which you would know if you weren’t such a culturally deprived human being.”
“Hey, I appreciate art,” Mack objected. “Especially yours. I have a sketch you did of me on my refrigerator door.”
“How flattering! I believe I was six when I did that.”
“Yes, but you showed promise even then,” Mack said with total sincerity, then had to ruin it by adding, “And I’m sure when you’re really, really famous that little scrap of paper will be worth a fortune.”
“Not if you get mustard and ketchup all over it,” Ben retorted, then caught sight of the bag in Mack’s hand. “You brought food. I take back every mean thing I said to you, if that’s lunch for me. I had an idea when I woke up this morning and skipped breakfast to come straight out here.”
Mack glanced at the canvas. As Ben had said, he was no expert, but this didn’t look like his brother’s usual style. “How’s the idea working out?” he inquired carefully.
“Not quite the way I envisioned it,” Ben admitted. “Now hand over the food. If one of those sandwiches is roast beef, it’s mine.”
“Which is why I got two roast beef,” Mack said. “I’m tired of you stealing mine.”
Ben chuckled. “Took you long enough to catch on. Did you get orange soda?”
Mack regarded him innocently. “I thought you liked grape.”
“Very funny. Hand it over.”
“Damn, but you’re greedy. What happened to the whole starving artist thing?”
“I was never a starving artist. I can thank our parents for that. I’m famished. There’s a difference.” Ben took a bite out of the thick roast beef, lettuce and tomato sandwich and sighed with obvious pleasure. “Nothing on earth better than a fresh tomato in midsummer.”
“Unless it’s corn on the cob,” Mack countered, falling into the familiar debate. “Dripping with butter.”
“Or summer squash cooked with onion and browned.”
Mack regarded his brother wistfully. “Do you suppose we could plant an idea in Destiny’s head and get her to cook all our favorites this Sunday?”
“You mean, could I plant the idea in her head?” Ben guessed.
“You are the one she loves best,” Mack pointed out, drawing a sour look. Ben refused to admit that their aunt was partial to him, and Destiny would deny it with her dying breath. “Besides, she thinks you don’t eat enough. She’d have pity on you. It would just take one little word.”
Ben regarded him curiously. “Since when has the cat got your tongue? Nothing’s ever stopped you from pleading with our aunt to fix you something special.”
“Truthfully, I’m trying to avoid Destiny these days,” Mack said casually.
“Won’t that make eating all these goodies you want a bit tricky?”
“I was kinda hoping you’d pack up some leftovers and bring ’em to me,” Mack admitted.
Ben chuckled. “Don’t tell me. She’s found a woman for you. What’s wrong with Destiny’s selection? Does she have buckteeth and wear glasses? Or is she simply not up to a ten on the Mack-o-meter for beauty?”
“I am not that shallow,” Mack protested. “And there’s nothing wrong with the woman. Nothing at all.”
Ben studied him quietly. “I see,” he said slowly, fighting a grin. “In other words, Destiny got it just right and you’re running scared.”
“Go suck an egg,” Mack suggested mildly.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”