Fortune's Family Secrets

“How long did it take you to do these?” The creative process really did interest him.

“The past two years,” she said. “I sell them when I can. Art shows are the best, but I often don’t have time to give up a whole weekend for that.”

“You’re talented.” It wasn’t idle flattery. He meant it.

“Talent doesn’t always pay the bills,” she said, obviously being realistic about it. That was probably why she wanted to teach—for the consistent income.

Cassie was standing in front of the easel and he crossed to stand beside her. “I think that’s the best one.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Not the barn or the landscape outside of Austin?”

“Those are good,” he conceded. “And if I had a den I’d probably hang them there. But aren’t paintings supposed to evoke emotions?”

She pushed her hair away from her brow. “I’m surprised you know that.”

“Because I’m a financial consultant?” he teased.

She shrugged. “Something like that. I mean, most people don’t even know that that’s why they choose a particular painting. I think art customers buy the paintings they do because that particular work resurrects a memory or a feeling they once had...or a feeling they want to have now.”

Again, Nash was surprised at her insight.

“What?” she asked when she saw him studying her.

“You just surprise me, that’s all.”

They were standing very close now, facing each other. He could easily reach out and touch one of the waves of her hair that flowed near her cheek. He was so tempted to lean in a bit to see what she would do. But he knew he was playing with fire. He knew he was being foolish, and she must have known it, too.

Suddenly she took a step back.

But he wouldn’t let her escape just yet. “Are you sorry you brought me up here?”

“No, not sorry...” she trailed off, her voice a bit breathless.

He felt as if Cassie and her paintings had taken his breath away. “What then?”

In the afternoon light glowing through the window behind her, she looked vulnerable. “I don’t often show my work to just anybody.”

“You mean to a relative stranger?” he countered.

“Exactly.”

A knowing came to him so swiftly that words came out of his mouth that he didn’t expect. “After a few more days, I won’t be a stranger, will I?”

“Maybe not,” she murmured, then took another step back. “I have to make a grocery run and then prepare something for supper.”

“And I have a meeting,” he said, deciding if he was a financial consultant, he should meet with a client or two or three. After all, he now had boots to wear with a Western-cut jacket.

He motioned toward the stairs. “After you.”

Once they were both on the second floor again and the stairs had been raised into the ceiling, he said, “So...I’ll see you later. I have a few things I have to bring in from my SUV.” He headed off down the hall, grateful he’d found a way to exit.

Because he’d almost done exactly what he knew he shouldn’t. He’d almost kissed her.

* * *

Cassie was in the kitchen making a list of the groceries she’d need, trying not to think of her time with Nash in the attic. Just what had that been about? She’d felt such a pull toward him. He’d even seemed to understand her paintings. Unless that was an act...unless he was a player.

However, she didn’t think so. She wasn’t getting that vibe from him at all. Still, what did she know? It wasn’t as if she had dated very much.

Almost finished with her list, she heard Nash’s boots on the stairs. When he reached the first floor she glanced up and her heart beat in double time. He was wearing a Western-cut suit jacket, black dress jeans, white shirt and bolo tie. In his hands, he held his Stetson. He looked fantastic.

He turned toward her and smiled. “I thought you’d be out the door.”

Because she’d run away from him so fast? She waved to the list on the counter. “I need to make sure I have everything written down that I need so I don’t forget anything. Trips to the grocery store take too much time, and I don’t want to be running there more than I have to.”

“So you believe in efficiency? So do I.”

She must have still been staring at him because he asked with a grin, “Do I have shaving cream on my nose?”

She felt herself blushing. “No. Of course not. What restaurant are you going to?”

She definitely thought he was meeting someone for lunch. “I’m going to meet my client at his hotel and we’ll go from there. Do you have any suggestions?”

“There’s the Sundance Restaurant. Lots of business folk go there.”

“I’ll take that as a recommendation.”

“Is there anything special you’d like me to pick up at the grocery store, maybe for snacks?”

“Corn chips and salsa,” he responded with a wink.

“Mild or spicy?” she asked and then wondered if he thought that was a double entendre.

He must have because something sparked in his dark brown eyes. Something that made tingles dance on all her nerve endings.

“Definitely spicy,” he answered.

“Got it.” She definitely did. They were attracted to each other. Big-time.

He took his keys from his pocket and gave her a wave. “Have a good afternoon.”

She said goodbye but wasn’t sure he heard it because the door was already closing behind him.

She felt hot. How could a little conversation with a man make her feel hot? How could standing close to a man urge her to feel his kiss? How did looking at a man make her wish for so many things she couldn’t have?

It was simple, really. A man like Nash wouldn’t flirt with her at all if he knew her mother was in jail.

Chapter Three

Nash sat in a chair at a computer in the library forgetting all sense of time and place. The text on the screen, as well as the notes he had made, caused a sinking sensation in his stomach. He actually felt sick. Research on Jerome Fortune or Gerald Robinson, however you wanted to look at it, was not a feel-good experience.

In a normal investigation, he could contact the Robinsons for more information. But because he was investigating Gerald’s wife, he couldn’t do that.

Nash thought about his mother again and her lack of bitterness against Gerald. She must have really loved the guy. She’d told Nash that Gerald was lonely and his wife was a witch. As far as Nash was concerned, it was that old “she doesn’t understand me” line. But if Charlotte Robinson was guilty of the crimes Nash suspected she was guilty of, maybe she really had been a witch...and still was.

Putting his notes aside, he stopped reading about the Robinsons in order to focus on photos. Gerald and Charlotte were in the paper constantly at charity fund-raisers, community events, when a new illegitimate child made the news. Nash didn’t want the spotlight turned on himself. He definitely didn’t intend to make the news.

He studied his father’s face, unsure of what he was looking for. Signs of recognition? Was he trying to see himself in his father’s face? He certainly hoped he couldn’t find his own. He’d rather think he inherited all of his mother’s attributes and physical features. But there was that hint of stubbornness in Gerald’s jaw that Nash knew he had to own up to also.

He continued to pore over photo after photo. More recent ones caught his attention. He found the Fortune name mentioned in conjunction with a Valentine’s Day party at the Mendoza Winery. Cassie had mentioned that winery and the fact she’d be doing a Paint and Sip party there.

If she taught her Paint and Sip class there, he could tag along or stop in incognito. It would be the perfect opportunity to nose around. Certainly, someone at the winery would remember the Valentine’s Day party and the people who had attended. He could just claim he was thinking about contacting the famous family to inquire if they needed his financial services. He had to keep his investigation moving forward. He didn’t have that much time in Austin.

Wanting to ditch the suit he’d worn to his pretend meeting, he stuffed the small spiral-bound notebook with thoughts and facts about the Fortunes into an inside pocket. Then he closed down the computer. To his surprise, the afternoon had passed into evening. Immersed in his research, wondering how he could really get the goods on Charlotte, he’d lost track of time.

Rush-hour traffic was heavy as he headed back to the B&B. He found himself eager to see Cassie. She was like a bright star floating in and out of his mind, even as he tried to concentrate on grittier things like the Fortunes.

Fortunately, he found a parking space near the B&B. As he walked up the street, he thought again about the Paint and Sip party. The more he thought about going along with Cassie, the more he liked the idea. He was passing the house next door to the B&B when he realized someone was sitting on the porch in a caned rocking chair. The woman looked to be in her late sixties. She waved to him in a friendly greeting.

“Nice night,” she called out. “But it’s getting a bit chilly.”

At the foot of the stairs to her porch, he stopped. “Yes, it is. Are you people-watching?” he asked with a smile.

“That’s mostly what I do now,” she said. “Especially in the evenings. I have a lot to watch with the B&B next door. I can see folks coming and going. I spotted you leaving earlier.”

This woman must not have much to take up her time, and maybe not enough people in her life, Nash surmised. He went up the porch steps and extended his hand to her. “Nash Tremont,” he said.

“I’m Renata Garcia.”

“I’m enjoying the bed-and-breakfast. It’s a nice atmosphere.”

“Oh, yes, it is. Don’t you just love the way Cassie painted those rooms? She has such a unique sense of style. Have you seen her paintings? She brought a few over after she moved in so I could see them. They’re wonderful.”

“She’s very talented,” Nash said noncommittally though he had really liked them. Apparently Cassie and this woman were friends.

“She is that, and she’s such a lovely girl. She’s helped me more than once when I wasn’t feeling well. Some days my arthritis bothers me so much I can hardly get up and down out of the chair. But Cassie tells me to keep my cell phone close at hand and just call her if I need anything. In a way, I feel like a surrogate parent.”

Nash knew he should get information about Cassie from Cassie herself, but he also realized he could learn facts from other people, too. “Aren’t Cassie’s parents around here?”

“It’s such a shame, but Cassie’s parents died in a car crash.”

So Cassie had lost her parents. He felt for her. The compassion he’d seen in her was true. Apparently she knew what it was like to lose the people you loved.

He thought again about Sara and her refusal to marry him. She’d hurt his pride as well as broken his heart. Although he didn’t intend to compare Sara and Cassie, he found himself doing it. Cassie seemed so bright and sparkling compared to Sara. Was it even fair to judge?

Cassie’s neighbor broke into Nash’s thoughts. “How long will you be staying at the Bluebonnet?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” he told her. “More than a week and less than a month.”

“I see. You know, you really should make a commitment. It would help Cassie figure out what bills she could pay and which ones she can’t. She finagles her budget until it all works out. That’s hard to do these days for me, too.”

“I think we all have to adjust our budgets each month these days.” He took off his sports jacket and laid it over his arm and then loosened his bolo tie. He couldn’t wait to get into his T-shirt and jeans. “It was good to meet you, Renata.”

“It was good meeting you, too. You tell Cassie I said hello.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

As he descended the porch steps, he didn’t know if he’d be seeing Cassie tonight. In some ways, it would be safer if he didn’t. No temptation, no consequences. Maybe he’d change and go out again, grab some tacos and go over his notes. It would be a safe evening with nothing more on his mind than work.

* * *

The following day Cassie wished she could make a breakthrough with her eleven-year-old art student Danny. Art often could help children express themselves. She knew Danny could draw. That was one of the reasons his mother was paying for art lessons. But he wouldn’t draw anything he really cared about.

The late afternoon was quiet on the porch as Cassie watched Danny paint the big sturdy tree, a realistic portrayal of one right outside the screened-in room. The only sound was the brush of Danny’s strokes on the canvas and the sound of birds in the tree branches as they called to each other.

The almost-silence was the reason Cassie heard the front door open and then close. When she leaned back to peek through the rooms, she spotted Nash walking toward her. She hadn’t seen him much for the last twenty-four hours. He hadn’t eaten supper last night or breakfast this morning. He was dressed up again and he looked tired. Had he had meetings all day?

When he stopped at the door to the screened-in porch, Cassie motioned him inside. Maybe Danny would respond to another male.

“Danny, this is Nash. He’s a guest at the bed-and-breakfast, and he understands paintings.”

Danny gave her a quick glance and then turned back to his canvas.

“I really do,” Nash said, obviously perceptive about what Cassie wanted him to do. “And Cassie’s paintings are great. Have you seen any of them?”

Danny nodded but wouldn’t turn and meet Nash’s gaze. Nash lifted one eyebrow as if to ask Cassie what was going on. But she wouldn’t talk about Danny with the boy there. Nash must have sensed that so he backed off, which was thoughtful of him.

He asked, “Is it okay if I make some coffee?”

She motioned to the sideboard in the dining area. “I brewed a pot about an hour ago. It should still be good. I made chocolate chip cookies, too. Danny had two before we started.”

“What did you think of them?” Nash asked the boy.

“They were good,” Danny answered, still keeping his eyes on the canvas.

But Nash didn’t completely give up. “You know your tree is as good as any one of Cassie’s.”

Danny inclined his head as if he’d heard. He gave a little shrug, but he didn’t respond. Nash’s gaze locked with Cassie’s, and he just pointed toward the dining room as if telling her he’d wait in there to talk with her.

A short time later, Danny’s mother came in the door. Dorie Lindstrom always seemed to be in a rush. Now she came barreling toward the sunporch. Danny had his mom’s blond hair and blue eyes, and when he saw her, he smiled. He always smiled around his mom.

As usual, she seemed to stop rushing when she was in the presence of her son. She stood behind him and stared at his painting. “That’s a terrific tree. What are you going to put with it?”

“Maybe a playhouse on the grass,” he said.

“You’re good at painting buildings. I think that will fit well there, don’t you think, Cassie?”

“Danny has an instinct for knowing what to fit together. I’m sure a playhouse will be just right.”

Dorie handed Cassie a check. “Same time on Monday?”

“That works for me.” As Danny rose to his feet, Cassie said, “I’ll put your painting somewhere safe. It will be ready for you when you’re ready for it.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Good job.”

He gave her a smile like he’d given his mom. Then the two of them left.

Cassie carefully propped the painting on one of the chairs, then collapsed the easel. By then Nash had come into the porch, coffee mug in hand. He’d removed his jacket and loosened his bolo tie. With the top button of his shirt opened, he looked too sexy for words. She swallowed hard and told herself again he was just a guest.

“So what’s going on with your art student?” he asked. “Or can’t you tell me?”

“Some things are confidential but it might help me to talk to you about it. I know you’re not going to spread any gossip because you’re not from here.”

“That’s right. No gossip passes my lips.”

At the word lips, she stared at him...and them. That was a big mistake. She forced herself to concentrate on the subject they were talking about—Danny. “Danny’s parents are going through a divorce.”

“I see. Is he mad at his father? Is that why he wouldn’t make eye contact with me? All males are taboo?”

How perceptive, Cassie thought. But she supposed Nash had learned to read his clients well. “That could be part of the reason. But even more than that, his father doesn’t approve of Danny’s interest in art. Danny’s embarrassed about it himself because he’s gotten teased at school. I’m trying to build his confidence along with teaching him about acclaimed male painters. I want him to know his talent is something to be proud of.”

“You’re right, it is. What kind of person is his father?”

“I haven’t met him. He and his wife were separated before Danny started taking lessons. But he’s a lawyer. From what Dorie says, I get the feeling he’s narrow-minded in his thinking.”

“And probably judgmental,” Nash commented. “Narrow-minded people usually are.”

“There are always two sides to every story, so I don’t want to judge him without even meeting him. But from what Dorie has told me, both are true.”

Nash leaned against the porch wall. “Do you know her well?”

“Not extremely well. She and I had a long conversation before I took Danny on. And we usually talk a little bit every time she picks him up. But today she must have been in an exceptional hurry. She seems to be a caring and attentive mom. She listens and he’s completely relaxed when he’s around her.”

“And he probably wouldn’t be that way with his dad,” Nash guessed.

“Probably not. His dad wanted Danny to play football. That’s not in the cards. I get the feeling that their differing views on raising children is one of the reasons the two of them broke up.”

After another swallow of coffee, Nash said, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing building up his confidence. If he has confidence about his art, he’ll have confidence in other areas.”

Again, she was struck by his keen insight. She looked at him more closely. His hair was thick and a bit ruffled as if he’d run his fingers through it. He was a handsome man, that was for sure. “How did you get so wise?”

“The school of hard knocks.”

She was thinking maybe Nash had had some counseling, but he’d just disabused her of that notion. Experience must have taught him everything he’d learned. She was eager to know what those experiences had been.

“Danny seems to be relaxed with you,” Nash pointed out. “He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his painting if he wasn’t. But then, I think anybody could be relaxed with you.”

That compliment took Cassie by surprise. Truth be told, she wasn’t used to receiving compliments from men. She’d dated back in Bryan before she’d decided to move her life to Austin. But once Cody Sinclair had found out her mother was in jail, he was out the door. Either his moral sensibilities had been offended or the idea of having a girlfriend whose mother was a felon was just too embarrassing or abhorrent. Cassie had known better than to get involved with anyone romantically after that if she didn’t want a broken heart. Apparently romance just wasn’t in the cards for her.

“How can you judge how relaxed people are with me?” she asked him. “You’ve only seen me with the Warners, Lydia and Danny.”

“I had a talk with your neighbor yesterday when I came home. She was sitting on her porch and she waved and said hello.”

“Mrs. Garcia is lonely,” Cassie explained. “She’s a widow.”

“She said you spend time with her.” His voice had gone gentle as if he appreciated that fact about her.

“I do. She’s a lovely woman and has some great stories to tell. I think she’s trying to keep her memories alive. She says when you reach a certain age, all of your memories tend to blur together. I enjoy spending time with her.” Since her own mother wasn’t in her life now—her mother’s choosing, not hers—Renata Garcia helped fill a hole in her heart.

“She told me that you’d lost both your parents. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Cassie was dumbfounded for a moment but maybe not entirely surprised that Renata had told Nash. Most of her neighbors and coworkers thought that was what had happened to her parents. The problem was—it was a lie. Somehow, making up a story for other people hadn’t seemed so bad. She’d done it to protect herself and her mother and her business at the Bluebonnet. She’d seen everyone’s reaction to Carol Calloway’s arrest, trial and imprisonment. She’d learned it was better to propagate a myth and she’d had to do that to start over.

But Cassie felt terrible about lying to Nash. Still, hadn’t her experience told her that was the best thing to do?

She decided it would be better to lead the subject away from herself. Since Nash did look tired, she asked, “How was your day?”

“Long,” he answered with half a smile.

“Did you meet with potential clients? Did you sign any?”

Nash’s brown eyes seemed to darken. His mouth turned down as if he was chagrined at her question.

She hurried to say, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

After a moment he explained, “Sometimes I learn information about my clients that I’d rather not know.”

“I imagine a financial advisor’s relationship with clients is somewhat like a lawyer’s.”

“I suppose they could be compared,” Nash said politely, maybe a little coolly as if he didn’t intend to talk about it anymore. He straightened, lifted his coffee mug to his lips and drained it. “Good coffee,” he said. “I’ll just set this in the sink.”

“Will you be eating supper with us tonight?”

“No, I had a big lunch.”

“There are sandwich fixings in the refrigerator if you find you want something later. Tomorrow night I’ll be making a very early supper here. It’s Paint and Sip night at the Mendoza Winery. If you want to get to know more about Austin, you could stop in. It’s usually a friendly crowd.”

“You’ve done this there before?”

“Two months ago. It went over really well, so we planned another one.”

“I’ll definitely consider it,” he told her. “You have a good night.”

Cassie followed him into the guest area and watched him put the mug in the sink. Then he picked up his jacket from the back of a chair and headed upstairs without looking back.

Maybe she’d been all wrong about an attraction between them. Maybe only she was the one who felt the attraction. Maybe she’d poked and prodded too much. Whatever the reason, she felt a bit rebuffed. She’d just keep her distance from Nash Tremont, and the attraction would go away on its own.

* * *

If Cassie had the opportunity and the funds, she’d eat at La Viña, the Mendoza Winery’s restaurant, as often as she could. She liked the atmosphere there. The interior had a lot of large windows that during the day provided an extensive view of the vineyard. At night, floodlights showed off the grounds. The ceiling was oak-paneled and rounded to reflect the shape of the inside of a wine barrel.

The restaurant had been rearranged for the Paint and Sip party. Easels were set up along two sides of the restaurant. Patrons could pay the entire fee and actually paint a canvas with Cassie, or they could opt for a lesser fee that would cover only hors d’oeuvres and wine. That way friends who didn’t want to paint could come along with friends who did. There were always a lot of watchers.

Carlo Mendoza had greeted Cassie and made sure she had everything she needed. His fiancée, Schuyler, acted as a hostess of sorts. Already this evening, Cassie had taken her students through a step-by-step process. They could wander around and study her painting. They could listen in as she migrated from student to student, giving help where needed. Servers poured wine and served plates of hors d’oeuvres as patrons went to the tables to enjoy conversation, wine and everything from crab balls to mini tacos.