Read Dreams Claimed (Warfield's Landing, #1) Online

Authors: Adeara Allyne

Tags: #contemporary romance, #romantic suspense, #American Romance, #contemporary art, #maryland

Dreams Claimed (Warfield's Landing, #1) (2 page)

BOOK: Dreams Claimed (Warfield's Landing, #1)
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“Don’t worry. You might want to hold on until I give you the next bit of bad news.” He gestured to the letter. “The Evie Collection, he mentions...” His voice trailed off while she glanced at the note.

She looked back up, questioning, and he pushed his chair back. “I have it displayed in the next room. Now that Max is gone... you, I, and an appraiser who has been sworn to secrecy, are the only ones who know about this.” He crossed to the door and pulled it open.

The private conference room was filled with art. Nic’s breath caught in her throat. She stopped one step inside the door.

The room was a large one, with a long credenza across one wall. The drapes were drawn shut across a broad window. The chairs had been moved out to make room for an astonishing collection.

Paintings leaned up against the walls. Directly across from the office door was a full length portrait. It was the first thing she saw. She had to pull her eyes away. Arranged on each side of it were other stretched canvases. Stacked neatly on the conference table and credenza were drawings, sketches, and studies on paper.

That portrait caught her eye again and drew her in. She couldn’t help herself. Large, almost life size, it was a full length study of her mother.

Nic skirted the table and stepped over in front to the large framed piece.

Behind her, she was aware that Glenn had moved to the side and was watching her.

Nic had always known that she resembled her mother, but now...

This was like looking in a mirror. 

With a change in hair style, the large oil painting could be Nic in ballet rehearsal clothes. She looked her fill.

The room was silent as she examined the painting, her artist’s eye noting every detail.

Slowly, she reached out and pointed to the mole beside her mother’s eye. “When I was little, I understood that I looked like her, but I was very disappointed that I didn’t have her birthmark.”

As she came out of her near trance, she realized that she’d mirrored the relaxed pose in the portrait.

Eventually, she looked over to the right and down, at the next painting—one of a series showing Evie relaxing on a rumpled bed, beautiful in her nudity.

That group was smaller in scale and painted in a horizontal format. The linens on the bed changed from image to image, but the luminous beauty of the model and the love of the artist were constant.

On the other side of the portrait was another series of paintings, the slashing brush strokes giving life to a graceful figure dancing, spinning, stretching. She studied these for a long time.

For the first time, she saw a link between her father’s work and her own.

She knew about Max Hayes’ career. After he had introduced himself as her birth father, she’d researched him... reading everything she could find.

She understood the significance of this collection. Without these transitional works, critics had long been puzzled by the leap in Maxfield Hayes’ technique across the missing year.

Nic turned from the wall of canvases and began to look through the works on paper.

She did it methodically, starting at one end of the table with the first stack. Glenn had left a couple of pairs of white gloves sitting on the table, the kind used by museum curators. She carefully donned a pair before beginning her perusal.

While she looked through the paper works, Glenn leaned back against the wall, keeping silent, holding still. She appreciated that he was not distracting her from this life changing event.

She was silent. The only sounds in the room were the whisper of the heating unit and the rustle of papers.

Eventually, she finished, looking around almost blankly.

*****

N
ic shook her head to clear it, then focused on Glenn Conrad, her birth father’s oldest and dearest friend. He was looking at her with kindness and sympathy, aware that his responsibilities as her birth father’s executor had triggered this reaction.

She glanced around the room again and gestured, “Did you know about this?”

He nodded. “When Max decided to keep this a secret, he asked me to care for the collection. It has been in storage with a fine arts storage company for years. After Max died, it was important to get it appraised. With my years in the world of art, I chose someone we could trust.” He indicated that he was including her in this statement. “I’ll repack them myself and they’ll be picked up tomorrow.”

For the first time she noticed the sturdy wooden crates stacked in a corner of the room.

“Did you know her?” It wasn’t what she had been planning to ask and his gentle demeanor suggested that he knew it.

“She was beautiful, inside and out.”

It was the perfect thing for him to say, and suddenly the tears came. To her surprise, he didn’t panic. He gathered her into his arms and held her, like a father comforting his daughter.

When the sniffles started, he handed her a crisp cotton handkerchief. She pulled away and he released her gently.

She mopped her face and was going to return the handkerchief, when she realized that it was dark with mascara. She balled it up in her hand and said, embarrassed, “I’ll wash it and return it.”

“No worry,” he said with sympathy.

“So what happens now?”

“We’ll put this back in storage until you decide what you want to do with it. You have a number of options, and thanks to your bequest, you’ll be able to afford the insurance on it.” He spoke dryly and startled a laugh out of her.

“What IS it worth?”

He casually mentioned a figure that had her jaw drop. At her surprise, he explained. “Think Andrew Wyeth and the Helga pictures, except this represents the largest advance in Max’s style and power. Everyone in the art world knows about the Lost Year... and here it is.”

The two of them looked around at the large body of work, so casually displayed. She caught him looking at her and raised an eyebrow in question.

“Would you like to take a piece with you?”

“What about the insurance?” Even as she asked the prosaic question, she knew that she wanted him to give permission.

“If you take a small piece and don’t display it, we should be fine.”

She considered and then nodded decisively. There had been a very small study — of her mother’s head, eyes closed, face peaceful in sleep. She put the gloves back on and carefully sorted through the stack until she found it. Mounted in a mat, there was a flap of thick vellum over it, protecting it. With care, she should be able to get it home unscathed.

She glanced around the room and sighed, then looked at Glenn, waiting patiently.

“I guess we need to talk?”

“In my office?”

“If you don’t want me too distracted, that might be a good idea.”

*****

G
lenn settled back in his chair and Nic took the chair opposite. She laid the small drawing on the desk.

“It is very hard for me to think of him as my father... or of Mom with anyone other than Daddy.”

Glenn didn’t reply. Oddly, the silence was comfortable.

After a brief time, Nic picked up the letter. Referring to it, she spoke.

“I don’t want the money.”

“Then leave it alone until something changes. It’s carefully invested and I’ll be keeping an eye on it, as well.”

She glanced back at the letter. “So... In addition to the money, I’m to have my pick of any of Max’s possessions?”

“Yes, under the terms of the will.”

“Does Courtney know about this? That Max is tying her inheritance to mine?”

“No... She knows about the money Max left you, but not about the Evie Collection, or that you are to have your pick of his possessions. And... as you requested, she doesn’t know that you are Max’s daughter.”

“What if I don’t want anything?”

“Regrettably, it is covered under the same requirement as the money. Everything will go to the hate group.” Glenn shook his head. “I tried to talk him out of it...”

“Leaving nothing for Courtney, his widow?”

“Leaving nothing for Courtney.”

“Well, this makes me really uncomfortable. I don’t want to take something Courtney values... I’ve never been to his house...” She corrected herself. “I’ve never been to ANY of his houses. What am I supposed to do?” She stared blindly at the letter, then looked back at Glenn.

“You know her... Courtney. How do I fulfill this request...” she stretched out the word with a bite, “and be sure I’m not taking something she wants?”

Steepling his fingers, Glenn considered, running options. “You paint wearing men’s shirts?”

The question surprised her, not sure what he meant, but she nodded.

He explained. “Max mentioned it. He was amused.” She felt herself flush and he hurried on. “Max was a bit of a dandy, as I’m sure you noticed.”

She smiled. “He told me that you egged him on. That you two competed.”

Donning a straight face, he answered. “There may have been a touch of competitive spirit.”

She chuckled.

He gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgment, and continued. “As a result of our, ermmm, competition, Max had an extensive wardrobe. He owned enough dress shirts to keep you in paint clothes for decades.” He added, “Custom made in London, of course.”

She thought about it. “Are you sure that Courtney won’t mind?”

He shrugged. “Why would she?” He elaborated. “You could ask for some of them... not take all of them.”

“This would fulfill the terms of the will? And you said he had a lot?”

Glenn nodded. “Yes, he had full wardrobes at all of their residences... he probably had 300 dress shirts, easily.”

That left her speechless.

CHAPTER 3
Early May, present day in Washington, DC

D
aniel passed the old lady, careful not to jostle her. “Yeah, yeah,” he said to Luke, his best friend. “I’m on the escalator. I should be back at the condo in twenty minutes or so.” He stepped off of the moving stairs and strode over to the Metro platform, putting his phone away.

Looking up and over, he glanced at the passengers waiting to travel in the opposite direction.

She was on the other side of the Metro stop.

With a distinct snap, Daniel Sterling jumped back in time from his 35 year old self into his 12 year old self.

True, he was still waiting for the Washington DC Metro, and true, it was still the 21st century, but everything else was different.

As a young teen, he’d had a strong and passionate crush on the young Audrey Hepburn — her short cropped hair and boyish figure immortalized within the yellowed pages of a magazine decades old. She had been wearing flat shoes, tight pants that ended above her slender ankles, all topped with a large, white man’s shirt, the collar unbuttoned to display her lovely neck, the sleeves carelessly rolled up to just below the elbows. She displayed a unique elegance he hadn’t seen since... until this moment.

“Audrey!” He whispered under his breath and then shook his head to clear it. She was still there.

While exquisite and slender, this Audrey was clearly an adult. Mid- twenties? Maybe even older? Cropped close, her warm dark hair glinted in the dim light. Its severe cut displayed a jawline and graceful neck that should be declared a national treasure.

In a coincidence that had to be significant, like the photo from so long ago, she was wearing tight black pants—were they called leggings or something? A man’s large white formal shirt was untucked and fell mid-thigh. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing slender but strong, capable forearms. Automatically, he checked. Her fingers seemed to be bare.

Multi-colored paint was haphazardly streaked down the front of the white shirt. It looked as if she had wiped her hands down it absentmindedly. Even if he hadn’t just fallen violently in love, he would have been charmed by this indication of vulnerability.

He could tell from her posture that she was in flats. On her feet, rather than the staid black shoes he was expecting, he was entranced with her brightly painted canvas sneakers.

He tried to calculate her height using the wall behind her for comparison... maybe 5’3” or 5’4”? And slender... easily under 120 pounds.

From across the chasm of the train line, he watched as she answered her phone. She held it to her ear. Her lips didn’t move but the look of distaste on her face indicated that the call wasn’t welcome. She pulled the phone away, glanced at it, and dropped it into the large leather messenger bag that hung across her delicate frame. Rummaging in an outside pocket of the bag, she grabbed a small notebook and a pen, made a note, then tucked them away again. He was interested to see that she looked around, slowly. She was looking over everyone on her side of the platform. Hmmmmmm.

He waited and, as he expected, she began a careful perusal of everyone on his side, as well. Instinct had him look away, just before her gaze passed over him. An inner sense told him she was in trouble. He casually adjusted his briefcase and when he looked up again, she was staring intently at the other end of his platform.

He felt like he knew her intimately and could accurately read her body language. While she appeared at ease, the tight set of her shoulders indicated tension. He took the time to look over the waiting passengers on both sides of the stop. If he saw any of them again, he would know them.

Now he needed to find out what kind of trouble she was in and fix it for her.

At that moment, her train arrived and she disappeared from sight. The Metro pulled out, the platform was empty, and with a start he realized that while he knew her from his soul, he didn’t know her name. And... he hadn’t taken a picture of her.

Well, shit.

CHAPTER 4
Four weeks later in Alexandria, VA

––––––––

F
our weeks had passed and Daniel still hadn’t found his Audrey Hepburn. He hadn’t been particularly resourceful about his failure, either. He figured if he was stupid enough to turn his back on his best friend, Luke might just put him out of his misery.

Tonight, he and Luke were eating Thai takeout, something they did on a regular basis. They were in his Alexandria, Virginia condo. Bentley, his eight year old Golden Retriever, was stretched out on the long black leather sofa, head resting against Luke’s leg.

BOOK: Dreams Claimed (Warfield's Landing, #1)
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