Picture Of Perfection

“I appreciate it,” Carter said, then broached the subject that really interested him. “I also won the opportunity to meet the artist, right? I’d like to set that up as soon as possible.”

Shirley chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Of course. I’ll just need your contact information.”

Carter took out one of his business cards, then jotted down the name of his hotel and his room number. “My cell phone number is on here, as well, so you can reach me anytime.”

“I’ll get in touch with the artist and let you know what time works best for her,” she replied, taking the card from him.

“The sooner, the better,” he said, hoping she’d be free tomorrow. He’d only be in San Diego a couple of weeks and wanted to make every minute count. He loved this area of the country and looked forward to spending a little time outside of the Del Mar racetrack.

As Carter left the ballroom, he wondered if the artist had been at the charity benefit tonight. She might have been able to tell him something about the horse and its lineage.

Then again, she might only want to talk about her art. He admired people with that kind of talent, but had almost nothing in common with them. He was a man of science and the art world was completely foreign to him.

Thanks to Gillian Cameron, he owned a painting of Picture of Perfection. Now all he wanted was the horse’s DNA and he’d be happy.

With any luck, she just might be able to help him get it.

Two

When Gillian Cameron opened the door to the main house on Robards Farm, Carter forgot everything he was going to say.

The woman in the doorway was not what he expected. Her mane of chestnut hair reached almost to her waist and her eyes were the deep, rich green of Kentucky bluegrass. Her face captivated him, as well, open and expressive. Her creamy skin seemed to glow from within and looked so soft that he had to stifle the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. It was a ridiculous reaction and one that he’d never experienced before.

Carter blamed it on fatigue. He’d been unable to sleep last night, too keyed up by this new lead into finding Leopold’s Legacy’s true sire. He’d spent hours in front of his laptop, studying the DNA test results of Leopold’s Legacy and Apollo’s Ice. He’d even looked up Picture of Perfection’s lineage online and confirmed that he was also reportedly sired by Apollo’s Ice.

Now all he needed was to convince the owner of the horse to let him take a blood sample so he could compare the DNA of all the horses involved. He was fairly certain Picture of Perfection didn’t come from Robards Farm. The only horses he’d seen grazing in a nearby pasture were an eclectic assortment of quarter horses, draft horses and even a few miniature horses.

His meeting with the artist was simply meant to be a starting point in his search for the truth, but now that he’d seen Gillian he found himself faltering at the gate and forgetting the real reason he’d come here.

A smile lifted the corners of her generous pink mouth. “You must be Dr. Phillips.”

He gave a stiff nod, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. He’d pictured her as some middle-aged hippie woman with immense talent and an eccentric sense of style.

Gillian looked more like a sexy model for the designer jeans she wore. The low-slung blue denim molded the delicious curve of her hips and hugged a pair of long luscious legs that seemed to go on forever. The tail ends of her white cotton blouse were tied just below her perfect breasts and revealed a golden tan on the generous expanse of bare skin that made it all too east to picture her naked.

“Dr. Phillips?” she said, her brow furrowed.

He met her gaze, suddenly aware of the heat of the California sun on the back of his neck. “Please call me Carter.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Carter.” She reached out to shake his hand.

“So you’re the artist,” he said, stating the obvious. He noticed a smudge of yellow paint on her hand as she joined him on the front porch.

“That’s right.” Gillian hitched her thumbs in the front pockets of her jeans, the movement revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” he echoed, sounding like an idiot. It might help if he could string more than one or two words together at a time. “Ready for what?”

Amusement danced in her green eyes. “Ready to see Picture of Perfection. That’s why you came here today, isn’t it?”

“The horse is here?” he asked in surprise, looking around the place. He was no snob, having grown up in a working-class neighborhood in Chicago, but horse racing was an expensive business. Robards Farm looked too run-down to support such an endeavor. There was paint peeling off the house and outbuildings, as well as several pieces of farm machinery that looked as if they were in disrepair.

There were homey touches, as well, like the old tire swing hanging from the oak tree in the center of the yard and the gingham curtains in the window.

“Where else would he be? Gillian asked. “He’s in the south pasture.”

Carter nodded, aware that he was still adjusting to his surprise that the artist was a beautiful young woman instead of an eccentric. He needed to refocus and concentrate on his purpose for coming here.

“I can’t wait to see how close your portrait of Picture of Perfection comes to the real thing,” Carter told her.

“Then let’s go,” Gillian said, stepping off the porch to lead the way.

Carter enjoyed the sexy view from behind for a moment before lengthening his stride to catch up with her. Gillian moved briskly, the sun shining on her hair and turning some of the stray curls bouncing over her shoulders to a deep, burnished copper.

She glanced over at him and smiled, the gleam in her beautiful green eyes giving him the same sensation he used to feel when doing belly flops into the beach on Lake Michigan as a kid.

Femme fatale.

Those were the perfect words to describe Gillian Cameron. Carter had never really known a woman who fit that description the way she did. He hesitated to use the phrase now, although the effect she was having on him left no doubt that he found her desirable.

“We’re almost there,” Gillian promised.

She stopped to unlatch a white gate that hung crookedly on its hinges. Then she lifted the gate up on one end so it swung open wide enough for them both to pass through it.

Carter waited while she closed the gate and latched it again. He wanted to ask her why Mr. Robards hadn’t used some of his prize money from the races Picture of Perfection had won to do some upkeep on the farm. As a veterinarian, he knew faulty gates and fences could lead to animals escaping and getting hit by a car or falling prey to a predator.

“Looks like you could use a handyman to fix that gate,” he said.

She sighed. “I’ll get to it one of these days. It just seems like there’s never enough time to get everything done around here.”

An artist and a farmhand. He wondered what other talents she possessed.

They climbed a small knoll, the meadow grass reaching almost to his knees. Then he saw a white gazebo in the distance.

“That’s my refuge,” Gillian announced.

He followed her there, impressed at the way she’d transformed it into a makeshift artist’s studio. There was an easel with a partially completed painting on it, as well as a small table full of bristle brushes and paint.

“It’s very nice,” he said, noting how the breeze fanned her hair around her face.

Gillian smiled. “It might be a bit unorthodox, but I do my best work out here. I have the most inspiring view in the world.”

He turned to look beyond the gazebo and his breath caught in his throat. Lush green valleys dotted with horses lay between her gazebo and the Pacific Ocean. He recognized the horizon as the same one in the painting he’d just bought. Somehow, she’d been able to embrace the beauty of nature around her and make it come alive on the canvas.

“Come and have a look at my work in progress.” Gillian led him farther into the gazebo. “I could use a second opinion.”

Carter followed her inside, his eyes going immediately to the easel. “You’re doing another painting of Picture of Perfection?”

She sighed. “I can’t seem to stop painting him. His name is my curse, because no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to achieve perfection.”

Carter disagreed. Everything about her was perfect. Her painting, her eyes, her bewitching smile. He moved closer to the easel. “It looks perfect to me. What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “It just feels like something is missing. No matter how many times I paint this horse, I’m just not able to move on. I guess I’m looking for something I can’t explain.”

Carter turned to her. There was a vulnerability about Gillian that touched him, yet she definitely wasn’t the damsel-in-distress type. The dichotomy only deepened his curiosity about her.

“How long have you been painting?” he asked.

“About twelve years. I started shortly after I moved here. Herman Robards is my godfather and has never discouraged me from trying new things.” She smiled. “Even really stupid things.”

“We’ve all done really stupid things.”

She arched a winged brow. “Including you?”

“Sure,” he replied. “Some are easy to forget, but others stick with you for much too long. Sometimes forever.”

She moved closer to him. “Tell me one stupid thing you’ve done.”

He blinked, surprised by the request. This was supposed to be a simple meeting between an artist and the buyer of her painting. Now it was becoming surprisingly personal.

“Well, let’s see…,” he began, trying to think of something innocuous.

It had been a very long time since he’d done anything impulsive. Carter had gotten so used to suppressing his own needs and desires to help others that sometimes he felt as if he were just going through the motions of life. It had created an emptiness inside of him that he could usually ignore until someone like Gillian came along. Her vitality and spirit stirred something long dormant inside of him.

“I think you’re stalling,” she teased.

“I got a tattoo when I was a freshman in college,” he blurted.

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “Why is that stupid?”

He smiled. “Because I’d had too much to drink at the time and did it on a whim. I didn’t give any thought to what the tattoo image should be, I just picked one that appealed to me. Then I spent the next two years covering it up with a bandage.”

Gillian laughed, a sound so enthralling that he ached to hear again.

“Was it that bad?” she asked.

“The art was okay, I guess. Quite good, actually. It was the image I chose that was stupid.”

Curiosity lit her face. “What was it?”

“A butterfly.”

Her eyes widened. “I think that’s a wonderful choice!”

He laughed. “But not the most masculine one. I was a skinny college kid trying to impress girls. Telling them I had picked a butterfly tattoo because I liked the colors wasn’t the best pickup line in the world.”

“It would have worked on me,” Gillian said softly, then she flushed. “I mean, I’m an artist, so I like colors. May I see it?”

Again, Carter was surprised by the request. Gillian didn’t stand on pretense. She was forthright, yet in a way that made him want to accommodate her.

Carter removed his jacket, then rolled up the short sleeve of his shirt to reveal the small butterfly on his bicep.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” she breathed, stepping closer to him. Her slender fingers reached out to trace the intricate design.

His body tightened at her soft touch and he had to remind himself to breathe. Standing this close to Gillian made him realize how very long it had been since he’d held a woman in his arms.

Gillian stepped away from him all too soon. “I think it’s a perfectly wonderful tattoo and does not in any way qualify as a stupid mistake. At least you don’t cover it with a bandage anymore.”

“I’ve gotten past the embarrassment, for the most part. I’m certainly not a teenager anymore and stopped trying to impress people years ago.”

She cocked her head to one side. “So how old are you, Carter?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

She grinned. “I’m twenty-two.”

Her age his him like a punch in the gut. Twenty-two. The eleven-year age difference gaped as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon in his mind. She was barely out of her teens and he’d been fantasizing about her naked….

Carter closed his eyes, realizing that she was almost the same age as Noah, his impulsive and immature little brother. Noah had often scoffed at Carter’s stoic predictability and no doubt Gillian would feel the same if she got to know him better. They were both too young to realize that life had a way of interfering with your dreams.

“I’ll be twenty-three next month,” she proclaimed.

Next month he’d be back in Kentucky. He looked at her, aware that her age had come as a shock to him because Gillian had painted a portrait with such a mature and unique perspective. There was something about her, something he couldn’t name. That made her seem wise for her years.

The whinny of a horse drew their attention to the magnificent stallion in the pasture. He stood only a few feet from the gazebo, close enough for Carter to get a good look at him.

“There he is,” Gillian said with a note of awe in her voice. “Picture of Perfection. I think his name fits him, don’t you?”

Carter’s breath hitched. Picture of Perfection really was the spitting image of Leopold’s Legacy. “He’s a three-year-old?”

She nodded. “He turned three in February. I was there when he was born. I’ll never forget that night.” She looked up at him. “You’re a veterinarian, right? So it’s probably pretty routine for you.”

“A birth is never routine. It always feels like a miracle to me.”

She reached out to grasp his forearm. “Exactly! The only thing I can compare it to is the feeling I get when I’m painting a horse and everything is going just right. I’m completely focused on what’s happening in front of me and tuning everything else out. It’s like I’m….”

“Touching the horse’s soul?” Carter ventured, then realized how much of himself he’d revealed. That was how he felt whenever he participated in a birth, only he’d never been able to find the right words to describe the experience.

“Yes,” she breathed, staring up at him.

Their gazes locked for a long moment, then she looked away, breaking the connection. “I suppose we should head back. Herman’s making lunch today and he always worries if I’m late.”

He wondered why she lived with her godfather instead of her parents, but unlike Gillian, he wasn’t about to ask such a personal question.

“Why don’t you come to the house and I can introduce you to him?” Gillian suggested. “He wants to meet the man who bought his favorite painting. In fact, he’ll probably invite you to stay for lunch.”

The thought of spending more time with Gillian appealed to him. She had a way of making him forget his problems and that was a rare experience for Carter.

As they walked back to the house, Gillian made small talk all the way. She asked him about his work at Quest Stables and how he’d gotten interested in veterinary medicine.

To his surprise, Carter found himself talking about the injured squirrel he’d nursed back to health when he was ten and the horse camps he’d worked at as a teenager.

Then their conversation turned to Quest Stables and the horses running at Del Mar.

“Do you have any horses entered in the Pacific Classic?” she asked, referring to the annual million-dollar horse race at the Del Mar racetrack. “Picture of Perfection will be racing there.”

“Not this year.” Carter was surprised that she seemed unaware of the scandal surrounding Leopold’s Legacy, who had been scheduled to run in the Pacific Classic, too. The winner of the race earned an automatic berth in the Breeders’ Cup Classic.

“Quest Stables has several horses running their maiden race at Del Mar in the week prior to the Pacific Classic,” he continued. “We like the competition here and the quality of the track. It’s a good place for a horse to start its career.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you there,” Gillian said. “I want to paint Picture of Perfection at the racetrack. So far I’ve limited myself to pasture portraits, so this will be a whole new challenge for me.”

The challenge for Carter would be keeping his mind on his work if Gillian came around. His busy schedule usually didn’t leave much time for socializing, especially with a tantalizing femme fatale who was much too young for him.

The door opened when they reached the front porch and a big bear of a man walked out to meet them. He was the same height as Carter and twice as wide.

“Hello, Herman,” Gillian greeted him, confirming for Carter that this was Robards.

Herman grinned at his goddaughter. “Have I got a surprise for you.”

Three

Gillian Cameron didn’t know if she could take any more surprises today. She was still reeling from finding Carter Phillips at her door. The man was gorgeous, with his short dark hair and eyes as blue as the California sky. Better still, he wasn’t one of those insufferable men who knew he was handsome and expected her to fall at his feet.

He was older, too, which was a welcome change from some of those goofballs she’d dated in art school. Even though she’d just met Carter, Gillian liked what she saw. Not only his physical appearance, but the thoughtful way he talked to her and, even better, the way he listened.

She could feel his gaze on her now and it made the back of her neck tingle. He hadn’t thought she was a freak when she talked about how painting made her feel. He didn’t question why she was twenty-two years old and still living in her godfather’s house. He didn’t try to make a pass at her, which was a nice change from her usual encounters with men.

Not that this was a date. Far from it. Carter was simply the man who had bought her painting. The fact that he seemed so interested in Picture of Perfection was probably one the reasons she was so drawn to him.

Not that she’d mind a date with him. More than one, if she was honest with herself. She was definitely tempted to run her hands over a lot more than his tattoo. The man was the textbook definition of tall, dark and sexy.

“Herman, this is Dr. Carter Phillips,” she said, making the introductions. “He bought my painting at the charity fund-raiser last night.”

“Nice to meet you,” Herman said, reaching out to pump the man’s hand.

Unlike most people that Gillian observed, Carter didn’t wince at Herman’s powerful grip.

“I didn’t mean to be rude before,” Herman told him. “I was just so darn excited to see Gillian at the door that I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”

“Excited about what?” Gillian asked, perplexed by his demeanor. Herman looked as if he was about ready to jump out of his snakeskin cowboy boots.

“That gallery owner called,” he replied with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “You know, the guy who likes your horse portraits so much.”

“Jon Castello?” She’d met the owner of the Arcano Gallery at an art symposium last spring. He’d given a lecture and offered critiques for individual artists. To Gillian’s delight, he’d been impressed with her work. She’d been to his gallery a couple of times since then and he’d insisted on becoming her mentor.

“That’s the one,” Herman replied. “Anyway, he wants you to do a show at his gallery.”

Gillian’s heart skipped a beat. Her dream had always been to have her art on public display, but she’d never expected it to happen so early in her career.

“Oh, Herman,” she said, trying not to get too excited, “are you sure you understood him right? You know how you get phone messages confused sometimes.”

“I’m sure,” Herman affirmed. “I made him repeat it to me three times just so I wouldn’t get the message wrong. I think he was getting a little irritated. No offense, but I think the guy’s kind of a jerk.”

That didn’t surprise her. Like many artists, Jon could be temperamental and had a quick-fire temper. There were times that Gillian wondered if his interest in her was more that professional, but he’d never said or done anything inappropriate.

“I wrote down his number and put it on the desk in your room,” Herman continued. “You’re supposed to call him as soon as possible to set up a date for the opening of your show.”

Her show.

Gillian leaped into Herman’s arms, hugging him tightly. He’d always supported her art, even when she’d been plagued with doubts about how long she could keep her dream of an art career alive before she had to give it up to pursue another profession.

Now it seemed her goal of making a living as an artist was coming true even sooner than she’d planned. If it was a success…

Gillian shook that thought from her head, still not allowing herself to look too far into the future. She needed to take this rare opportunity one day at a time so she didn’t screw things up.

“Why don’t you go make that call to Mr. Castello,” Herman suggested, “while I offer your young man here a cool drink.”

A hot blush crawled up her neck. “He’s not my young man,” she said quickly, glancing at Carter. “He just came to see Picture of Perfection.”

Herman winked at Carter. “Seems to me we’ve got a picture of perfection standing right in front of us. Don’t you agree, Phillips?”

The heat burned her cheeks. “Herman, please.”

Her godfather chuckled as he turned to Carter. “It’s my goal to make her blush at least once a day. I hear it’s good for the complexion.”

“I need to go make that phone call,” Gillian said, eager to escape before Herman embarrassed her any further.

Herman liked to tease her, but he didn’t usually do it in front of strange men. She couldn’t help but notice Carter had avoided answering his question about her so-called perfection.

Gillian retreated to her bedroom suite, the walls plastered with her paintings. Most of them were of horses, although she had tried one of Herman and Marie a few years ago. It wasn’t very good and led to her decision to stop trying to paint people. She just couldn’t seem to capture them as well as she did horses.

Gillian found the message Herman had left on her desk and stared at the name and number scribbled in his bold, distinct handwriting. It was amazing how this simple phone call might change her entire life. She’d learned early that life was a series of sudden twists and turns, often leading in an unexpected direction.

Like the fire that had killed her parents.

She’d gone to bed that night the beloved daughter of Mark and Cara Cameron, then found herself orphaned before dawn the next morning.

It was all so long ago. That’s why she didn’t understand why she’d been having these nightmares lately. She hoped her upcoming gallery exhibit would keep her too busy to worry about the past. Her nightmares had become so disturbing, she’d even thought about contacting a hypnotherapist. Yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Some part of her was still hoping these nightmares would go away on their own.

As she sat down at her desk and picked up the cordless phone, she wondered what Herman and Carter were talking about. Hopefully, Herman wasn’t bragging about her as he had a tendency to do. That might drive Carter right out the door and she wanted the chance to tell him goodbye.

What she really wanted was for him to ask her out on a date.

“First things first,” Gillian murmured to herself.

Daydreaming about the sexy hunk downstairs wouldn’t get her any closer to her dream of a gallery exhibit. She just had to dial the number and let fate lead her the rest of the way.

Herman led Carter into the sunny kitchen, where the savory aroma of chili filled the air.

“What’s your pleasure?” Herman asked him as he opened the refrigerator. “I’ve got some good Mexican beer or do you prefer something stronger?”