Her Heart's Desire (Sunflower Series Book 1) (8 page)

A little while later at the house, a convoy
of vehicles parked on the lawn and along the lane leading from the
dirt road to the driveway. Craig tapped the beer keg on the back
deck with Lucas’s help while Megan and Amelia placed bowls of
potato salad and baked beans on the table.

“Amelia!” Craig hollered. “I’m ready for the
burgers.” Craig adjusted his father’s black pitmaster apron with
Boss of the Sauce
in large red print on the front. His
father had won it as a trophy at the American Royal BBQ five years
earlier. Craig’s mouth watered from the aromas drifting from the
smoker. Beef and pork ribs. Long and slow.

The late afternoon breezes blew in a few
lofty clouds. The sun played peek-a-boo, and streaks of light shone
like spotlights on the surrounding sunflower fields. The back deck
and yard buzzed with chatter, everyone sharing humorous stories and
loving memories. His parents would be pleased by the fondness their
friends and neighbors had shown. Craig’s heart swelled with
pride.

Amelia stepped onto the wide back deck and
started to hand him a platter at the same time as Zoë rounded the
corner of the house with a man in tow Craig didn’t recognize.
Amelia’s hand moved. Craig grabbed for the platter, catching it
before it hit the deck. “Hey! Watch it.” But Amelia appeared to be
in a transfixed state, showing no signs of hearing him. Her gaze
remained locked on the newcomer. And Zoë.

“Welcome, Karl.”

The softness in Amelia’s voice and the too
bright smile reinforced the knot in his gut. Amelia had a genuine
interest in this man? This guy had to be the newbie in town. Had
Zoë invited him? Who crashed a cookout like this? His parents, had
they been there, would’ve insisted the newcomer be welcomed.

“I hope you don’t mind, I asked Karl to meet
us here,” Zoë said. She led Karl by the hand onto the deck. “I
thought this would be a good way for him to get acquainted with
some folks he hasn’t met.”

“And some he’ll never meet,” Craig grumbled.
To the untrained ear, Zoë words were innocent enough, but he was
certain she had purposefully arranged the encounter. Maybe it was
her way for him to give Karl the once-over. Since his sister seemed
bent on dating the guy, and since their surprise party next
Saturday depended on Karl’s discretion, he should be thankful for
Zoë’s fast thinking. But something about it pecked in his gut the
way a woodpecker hammered away at tree. However, the best defense
was a good offense, so he’d be polite, but with both ears and eyes
on the guy.

“Karl, welcome. I’d shake your hand, but…”
Craig lifted up the platter in one hand and the spatula in the
other.

Karl grinned as Zoë and Amelia flanked
him.

“Hey, Karl,” Lucas said, coming through the
back door from the house with a platter of cooked ribs. He set it
on the table. “I didn’t know you were coming. Grab a rib.” Lucas
cupped Amelia’s elbow. “Amelia, we need a bottle opener in here,
and if you want me to carve the ham, I need the carving knife.”

Amelia appeared flustered, but when Lucas
guided her into the house, she went.

“Karl, this is Craig, Lia’s brother.” Zoë
made introductions.

Craig caught a quick flash of worry in the
man’s eyes. He leaned in for a private word. “So Zoë has recruited
you for our plan?”

Karl nodded. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good to hear. Grab a drink from the cooler
over there or the keg. Make yourself at home.” He hoped to put Karl
at ease, making it easier to study the guy.

“Should we offer to help Lia?” Karl
asked.

“She’ll be back in a few minutes,” Zoë said
reassuringly as she reached for Karl’s hand, guiding him down the
deck. They crossed the yard with Gentleman Jack running, and then
scurrying back, as if to urge them to hurry along. Zoë headed in
the direction of the creek.

She was taking the guy there? She giggled at
something Karl said and gave him a little flirty shove. A knot
formed in Craig’s gut, twisting like water wrung from a towel.

Friendship and family loyalty played
tug-of-war. Did Amelia have a true interest in this guy? How hurt
would she be when she discovered Zoë’s interest? He’d read all of
Zoë’s signs. Big eyes, coy grins, a slight tilt of her head, and
that friendly shove. He was well aware of them. She’d been his
first serious crush back in high school, but no one knew. He hadn’t
even shared that information with Lucas. It would’ve been too
weird, him dating his sister’s best friend. That would be as
ridiculous as Lucas dating Amelia.

Craig set the platter on a table. One by one,
he tossed hamburger patties onto a grill and turned the
country-style ribs on the second one. Sizzling from the heat, the
barbecue with its tangy aroma made him miss his dad. He could never
replace their father in Amelia’s life, but he’d be the best big
brother she would ever need, which meant doing everything in his
power to make sure she never got hurt. A parent’s duty, his father
had reminded him when he was young and interested in calf roping,
included finding the gift in a child and nurturing it. His dad had
supported his efforts in rodeoing, but Craig soon learned it wasn’t
his forte. However, Amelia’s gift was painting, and he hoped he’d
made his father proud doing all he could to help further his
sister’s career.

Later that evening as the cookout came to a
close and guests departed one by one, Craig finished wiping off the
grills. The silence of the fields surrounded him. He tossed a dirty
cloth into a bucket. Looking through the screen door, he peered
inside the house. His line of sight to the kitchen was blocked by
the couch and the corner. Where had his sister disappeared to?

“Hey, Amelia. Bring a couple of bottles and
let’s sit out here.”

No sound came from within the house.
Gentleman Jack wandered from the yard where he’d been scouting for
rabbits and lay down at Craig’s feet. He petted the dog and called
out, “Amelia?”

Still no answer.

Craig opened the door and waited for Jack to
enter before following him in. “Jack, where’s Amelia? I haven’t
seen her for at least an hour.”

Jack looked up at him as if to say, “You
really don’t know where she is?” The dog bolted toward the kitchen.
He sat at the door to Amelia’s studio and pawed like a person might
knock, but Amelia never answered. Strains of Samuel Barber’s
Adagio for Strings
hummed in the air. Craig opened the door.
Jack made a beeline for his bed, curled up, sighed, and closed his
eyes.

Craig stood transfixed. He gazed at the
tabletop. A purposefully arranged setting of an antique lace doily
topped with a collection of different sizes and colors of bottles,
including a tall blue one of German Riesling he remembered
purchasing, matched the image on the large canvas before his
sister. Amelia’s detailed still life rivaled any of the masters.
Pride swelled in his chest. If he could sing, he’d launch into a
Halleluiah
everyone in the county could hear.
Caterwauling
is what his grandmother had called his singing
when he was young. Instead, he could do the he-man thing and beat
his chest, but that would embarrass his sister.

After accusing him of lacking culture and
substance beyond the business world, Amelia had taught him about
art. He hoped by providing a studio for her in town, one day her
work would hang in several galleries and collectors would seek her
out.

She educated him about her favorites, and he
particularly loved Jan Frans Van Dael’s
Still Life with
Roses
and Paul Cezanne’s
Still Life with Cherries and
Peaches
. Amelia’s still-life work radiated with intensity and
vibrant colors of those artists. She had said the old way of making
and mixing colors was a lost art, but oils were the only thing
she’d ever use to paint a still life. Her name graced only a
handful in all her years as a painter. These type of paintings
popped realistically on the canvas only when sadness overpowered
her, which meant something troubled her deeply now.

And whatever troubled her, worried him.

When the music ended, Craig started to call
out, but the music started from the beginning again, obviously on
continuous play. Amelia, lost in an art world, sat on a rolling
stool with a paintbrush in hand and swayed to the achingly,
haunting music. She daubed paint from the palette resting on an
old, wooden TV stand with wheels, which allowed her to roll around
while she painted, or to roll it out of the way, so Jack wouldn’t
hit it and knock it over whenever he bolted for the door.

His sister never appreciated interruptions
when she worked, however he needed to speak with her. Had she taken
a deep melancholy plunge over seeing Karl and Zoë? When the two of
them returned from the creek, Zoë and Amelia acted in their usual
way, teasing and telling stories about their pigtail days. If
Amelia had been bothered by Karl’s presence, or her friend’s
interest in the man, she never let on.

Rather than startle his sister by calling
out, Craig walked to the opposite side of the room and stood next
to the table holding the sculptures. He waved. Amelia blinked
several times. She paused with a paintbrush in midair as though
returning from a faraway world.

“Have you been there long?” Amelia asked.

Craig shook his head. “I know you don’t like
to be bothered when you’re painting, but I need to talk. Since I’m
only home for the weekend, and I’d rather not have this
conversation over the phone, will you take a break soon?”

“No.” Her mouth formed a thin line. Her
nostrils flared.

“You have to go to bed at some point. After
all, you twisted my arm about going to church tomorrow
morning.”

“Yes.”

Craig reached over and paused the CD
player.

“No. Yes. Are we having a conversation? Or
answering questions for a gameshow somewhere in your head?”

“No, I don’t want to talk to you. Yes, I’m
going to bed soon.”

“Amelia, what did I do this time?”

His sister rose from the stool and kicked it
aside. “I think I’m done for the night after all.” The stool bumped
the couch, changed trajectory, and came to rest beside Craig’s
legs. If she were shooting pool, it would’ve been a good trick
shot.

“Here, Jack,” she called. From his bed, the
dog lifted his head, looked at each of them, before resting his
head, ignoring them both.

“No. Yes,” Craig said.

“What?” Amelia snapped.

“No, you’re not going to ignore me. Yes,
we’re going to talk.”

“Fine! Let’s talk.” Amelia stormed out of the
room. “I won’t let you invade my space and leave a negative imprint
there.”

He found her in the dining room pulling the
top off a bottle of Basil Hayden. Their father’s favorite George
Jones song,
The King Is Gone and So Are You
, popped into his
head. It was a song they shared as an inside joke, but given her
anger, he didn’t dare laugh. Before their parents died, just
mentioning the song would have had Amelia in stitches. She loved to
sing along with George Jones to entertain their father.

Amelia poured whiskey into a crystal glass,
about three-fingers full. She handed it to him. Pulling another
glass from the china cabinet, she splashed a small amount of liquid
into that glass. When she tipped the bottom up, that surprised
him.

“Whoa.”

“Ahhh,” she said, pouring another
three-fingers width of liquid into the glass. “Let’s talk.” Before
he could get a word out, she stomped across the living room and out
to the back deck. He followed her, but just before he reached the
open door, Jack scampered past him, clipping him at the knees. He
grabbed for the door to keep from falling. Whiskey sloshed onto the
deck. “No, Jack. That’s not for you,” he told the dog when Jack
came to inspect the spilled liquid.

“Here,” he shoved his glass at Amelia, who
sat in a chaise lounge. Walking to the far end of the deck, he
grabbed the bucket with dirty soapy water and poured it over the
whiskey spot.

“And don’t drink that either,” he told the
dog. In response, Jack jumped on the chaise and stretched out
beside Amelia, resting his head in her lap.

“Please don’t yell at Jack. It isn’t his
fault you’re clumsy.”

Craig pulled up a chair, straddled it, and
faced his sister. Darkness mostly shrouded her face. He raked his
fingers through his hair and let go of an exasperated sigh. “I’ll
take my drink, now,” he said. She handed it over.

Leaning over with his elbows resting on his
thighs, he cradled the glass. “Amelia—”

“How. Dare. You.” Her voice came out low and
deadly calm.

“There are several things I want to talk
about, but you’re going to have to clue me in. None of what I want
to discuss could produce that level of intensity.”

“I swear if you don’t admit the truth, I’m
going to start picking corn and chucking it at you until you’re
bloody. There’ll be nowhere you can hide—until you put your butt
back in that sports car you bought and leave. And you of all people
know how dear my corn crop is to me.”

“What?” he demanded. Trying to talk with her
when her emotions whirled like a top was worse than a sailor trying
to find dry land in the fog without a lighthouse to illuminate the
way. He took a gulp of whiskey, ruining the pleasure of a fine
sipping bourbon.

“You! You’re blackmailing Lucas!”

Craig drew back.

“Are you crazy? I know today has been
difficult, which is why I wanted to check in with you, but to
accuse me of...of doing that, to Lucas of all people! I going to
call 9-1-1 and tell them a crazy person has carried off my sister.”
He peered closely at her. “Or are you some sort of clone?”

She leaned forward and swatted at him. He
dropped the crystal glass. One of their mother’s favorites. Amelia
rose from the chaise so fast, she dumped Jack on the deck. He
yelped, but scrambled, scratching the wood with his nails, and
scampered away.