Almost Perfect (23 page)

While success takes hard work, there's something to be said for taking the path of least resistance.

—How to
Have
a
Perfect Life

The day of the show arrived with a flurry of activity that kept Maddy so busy she could almost ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Since Mama had agreed to take over at the Craft Shack, she had the whole day off to help the gallery staff get ready.

One of the back alcoves had been set aside to showcase her work. After stripping the walls, bare, she and Juanita started rehanging the area, filling it with her vibrant landscapes, jewel-tone wildflowers, and dramatic cloudscapes.

"Wow," Juanita said, stepping back to admire the progress they were making. "This looks great. I've already told you how much I love the pieces you brought in, but now that they're on the wall, they really pop."

"Thanks. The guys in the frame shop did a fabulous job."

"It's more than that," the gallery manager insisted. "You weren't kidding when you said you were good at displays."

"That's why I offered to help." Tape measure in hand, Maddy stepped around the framed pieces they'd laid out on the floor in an intricate grouping. Sylvia and some of the framers were working in the other alcoves, going through the same process. Tipping her head, she read off the measurements for the next nail placement.

"This is something the other artists rarely do." Juanita wrote down the numbers on a scrap of mat board. "Not that we mind. Their job is to create the art. Ours is to show it and sell it. To be honest"—Juanita lowered her voice—"most of them would muck this up if we let them try."

"Hanging a gallery wall is an art form in and of itself." Maddy pulled a nail from the pocket of the shirt she'd tied at the waist over a pair of tattered jeans.

"You got that right." Juanita laughed.

As Maddy drove the nail in, she realized how much she'd missed this world—not just the art itself, but the showing and selling too. Leading customers through a gallery was so much more than quoting prices. It was a performance, with stories to tell about each artist, the history of each piece, its connections to other works; and designing the displays was all part of setting the stage.

"What next?" Juanita asked when they'd finished hanging all of Maddy's pieces.

Maddy looked about. "Let's get a few bronzes in here to add dimension."

Together they muscled tree-trunk pedestals into position and topped them with bronzes.

"Perfect," Maddy announced as she dusted off her hands. The area looked as good as any Canyon Road gallery. Unfortunately, three hours remained until the show started, which left too much time to obsess about the coming night and thoughts of Joe.

He'd been friendlier toward her the last two days, but they still needed to sit down and really talk. So she and Mama had formed a plan for her to get Joe alone tonight after, the show.

Nerves fluttered in her belly, so she pressed them down with a hand. "Do you want me to help with the rest of the gallery?"

"No, we're pretty much down to the pricing and cleaning up. Angelina." Juanita called to Sylvia's seven-year-old granddaughter. "You can sweep in here now if you want."

"Okay." The eager child, who'd been getting in the way more than helping most of the day, hurried forward with a broom that was taller than she was.

Juanita checked her watch. "Why don't you go ahead and get dressed? Sylvia wants pictures of you standing in front of
Sunrise Canyon
for the catalog. We should do that before the madness begins."

Seeing little choice, Maddy headed through the door from the gallery into the noisy frames shop and offices.

If Images of the West were a woman, the gallery would be her face, beautifully made up to show the world, but this would be her heart and soul: bright, loud, and pulsing with life. Today that heart beat at a hectic pace as the staff scrambled to finish a few last pieces for the show. Fluorescent lights glared down from the exposed metal rafters while scraps of mat board littered the floor like giant confetti. Hard rock blared from a boom box, competing with the hiss of an air compressor blasting dust away from glass, and the nerve-jarring
pop
of a brad gun.

Maddy smiled at the whole disjointed, wonderful symphony of it as she made her way to the sales offices and employee bathroom at the back of the building.

There she found the dress she planned to wear hanging in its dry cleaner's bag. Excitement and anxiety tangled in her belly as she took it down and thought about the evening to come.

Joe steered his mother's powder blue land barge into the line of vehicles waiting to turn into the parking lot for Images of the West. "Looks like they got a crowd."

"Sure as shootin'," his mother said gleefully.

Ducking his head, he took in the whole effect. Luminarias lined the roof, while tiny white lights circled the porch posts. Brighter light spilled from the big windows across the front. Inside, he saw the cream of the Santa Fe art world—collectors, gallery owners, and artists—milling about. "Sylvia was a genius to play up the mystery artist angle."

"Maddy must be thrilled with the turnout," his mother said. "And nervous as all get-out."

"No doubt." Although Maddy wasn't the only one who was nervous. He'd managed step one in the first phase of his plan. Tonight he hoped to take another step toward getting things back to where they had been.

Finally, the line of cars moved forward. He maneuvered into a handicapped space near the front door, then turned to his mother. "Now this time wait for me to open your door, okay?"

"Don't be silly." She wrestled with the handle, her frail hands shaking. "I can manage."

"I mean it," he ordered in exasperation. The stubborn woman never let him do anything for her without a battle. A less secure man would be positively emasculated in her presence, without her even realizing she was insulting him. *

True to form, she made a face, but folded her hands as a sign of resignation. Satisfied, he stepped out of the car into the cool evening air. The voices of other gallerygoers and the sound of car doors slamming contrasted sharply with the quiet of the desert evening. Overhead, the twilight gathered as he opened the passenger door.

"Now see," he said. "That didn't hurt at all."

"Not at all," she agreed, with a smile that didn't mean a thing. Next time would be no different. He accepted that with the same patience that let him watch her struggle out of the passenger seat on her own. Her cane tangled with her legs, but she made it without tripping.

"All right." She straightened the Oriental silk jacket she wore with black leisure slacks and orthopedic shoes. "Let's go hobnob."

Joe hid a smile as they made their way across the parking lot. His mother couldn't be an art snob if she tried. She liked it all—from finger paintings by the campers to the works in his collection. The moment he opened the door the noise from inside washed over him.

"Joe." Sylvia stood ready to greet guests. "So glad you came."

"I wouldn't have missed it." He scanned the crowd for Maddy, but didn't see her. "I don't believe you've met my mother."

"No, I haven't." Sylvia extended a hand laden with turquoise and silver rings. "Your son has excellent taste in art… and artists, since he brought us Madeline. What a treasure! Everyone loves her work."

"Of course they do," Mama replied. "Madeline has always been very special."

"I won't argue with that." Sylvia motioned toward the framing table, which had been converted into a buffet. A good-size crowd gathered around it, filling plates with finger food and accepting glasses of wine from the server at the far end. "Why don't you two grab some refreshments and have a look around?"

"Thanks." Joe motioned for his mother to precede him and started to follow just as Maddy came into view.

She was talking to an older couple as she moved across the back of the crowded gallery. His focus narrowed, dimming everything but her as he tracked her progress, seeing her in snatches through the crowd. Her bright hair was set off by a cropped jacket done in rich, earthy shades, hand-painted with stylized Indian ponies and dripping with leather fringe.

The crowd parted, granting him a brief glimpse of the copper-colored dress beneath the jacket. It flowed from a scooped neckline with buttons down the front, past her nipped-in waist, over nicely flared hips, then down her legs nearly to her ankles. A pair of sexy sandals with three-inch heels completed the outfit.

The sound of her laughter brought his gaze back up the length of her.

His chest tightened.

This was Maddy as he'd always pictured her. The bright, shining center of the art world. Both pride and doubt stirred within him. Pride that she was fulfilling her destiny, and doubt over whether that destiny included him.

"There she goes again," someone sighed in exasperation.

"Hmm, what?" Joe turned to find Juanita standing beside him with her hands on her hips.

"Madeline." The gallery manager motioned in frustration. "She keeps steering customers away from her own work to introduce them to the other artists. I admit, I love the fact that she's closed deals on four originals this evening, but I wish they'd been
her
originals. She's supposed to be our new star, not fill-in help for the sales staff."

Joe's gaze swung back to Maddy, watching as she pointed to various pieces on the wall, motioning with her hands as she talked. She was doing exactly what Juanita said: selling a painting by another artist.

"She's good, though." Juanita nodded. "You gotta give her that. She's really good."

"And completely exasperating." He started forward, pausing briefly to check on his mother at the food table. Then he marched over to Maddy, who was expounding on the painting before her.

"Hello, Maddy."

Maddy whirled around to find Joe standing directly behind her. She'd known he'd arrived—she'd caught a glimpse of him and her heart had done several somersaults—but she hadn't expected him to come straight over to her. Things were better between them, but not that much better.

"Joe. I'm so glad you made it."

"Yeah, me too." He turned to the older couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Colton, how are you this evening?"

"Fine. Just fine," Mr. Colton replied. "How's that granddaughter of ours liking summer camp?"

"She's having a blast. Now, if you'll excuse us"— Joe slipped his arms about her waist—"I need to talk to Madeline."

He eased her away from the Coltons, drawing her as skillfully as a dancer through the crowd. His touch made her light-headed enough that she didn't question what was happening.

As they moved, he scanned the exhibit until his gaze landed on the alcove that held her work. He headed that way with her tucked into the warmth of his side, his hand on her rib cage beneath her jacket. When they reached the area, he stopped before
Sunrise Canyon
, maneuvered her right in front of it with both hands on her hips, then stepped back.

"There." He nodded. "Much better."

"What?" She frowned at the loss of his arm around her. Then her mind cleared and she plopped her hands on her hips. "What was that about?"

He stepped closer and lowered his voice as several patrons passed by. "It's about you."

"Me?"

He turned to a young couple admiring one of her pieces. "Fabulous work, isn't it? Have you met the artist? This is Madeline."

She went instantly into sales mode, trying to remove herself from the fact that she was praising her own work. The moment the couple seemed absorbed enough to need privacy, she stepped back, drawing Joe with her. "What are you doing? I was about to close a sale over there."

"You're supposed to be selling your own work. Or at least talking it up to the local gallery own-ers." He looked around. "Who have turned out in droves."

"Don't remind me." She pressed a hand to her belly.

He studied her closely, his expression unreadable. "Why don't I get you a glass of wine?"

"I thought that was against camp rules, even when we're off duty.-"

"Sometimes I have this overwhelming need to break a rule or two just to prove to myself I'm still me."

"Okay then." She let her breath out in an audible rush. "Wine does sound pretty good right now."

"Then you stay." He held a hand up, palm out. "Stay."

"I'm not a dog." She laughed.

"I mean it. Stay."

She smiled and patted her heart as she watched him go.
Oh my
. As if she didn't have enough going on to make her pulse jump, he looked insanely handsome tonight in black slacks, a dark purple shirt, and a silver bolo tie. The color of the shirt made his skin look darker, his hair blacker, his eyes a deeper brown.

He was every inch the modern-day equivalent of an Indian warrior. Heat rushed through her at the thought that he might be back in her bed soon. Where things went from there… Well, she'd just have to wait and see.

Chapter 16