She Likes It Irish (28 page)
Amanda smiled. “That sounds like an offer I’d be foolish to refuse. But for right now, I think I will. Thanks anyway.”
“Okay,” Sarah sighed. “You’ve got my number if you change your mind.” She grinned. “Or if you run out of batteries.”
There was a moment of silence as the two friends finished breakfast and sipped their coffee. Maybe I should take her up on a nice fuck from a handsome model, Amanda thought. What could it hurt? Even if it would only be a mercy fuck.
Glancing up, she saw Sarah looking at her with a Cheshire cat grin. “What canary did you swallow? And what’s in the box?”
Sarah waited for the server to clear the table, then handed Amanda the carton. The box was big, half the size of the table, but not very heavy. Amanda looked at her friend with a lifted eyebrow, and then slid the lid off the box. Inside, to her total surprise, sat a brand new felt cowboy hat. The hat was pearl grey with a black braded leather band around the crown. The crown was creased and the brim pre-rolled into wearing shape.
Sarah was grinning and squirming happily on her chair, unable to sit still. “Put it on,” she said excitedly. “See if it fits.”
Amanda looked at the hat, then at Sarah. She glanced at nearby tables and saw several people looking at her and the hat. “I’m not putting this on. And why on earth are you giving it to me?”
Sarah’s grin grew brighter as she answered Amanda in a slow drawl. “Cause yer gonna need it shugga. Down thar in Texas.”
Amanda stared at Sarah as if she were daft. “Texas? What the hell are you talking about?” Just then her phone rang.
“That will be Richard,” Sarah said. “Don’t tell him I told you about Texas. Or that I gave you the hat.”
“You haven’t told me anything about Texas,” Amanda lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi Richard. What’s up?”
“Mandy, darling.” Richard sounded somewhat breathless. “Have you read your e-mail?”
“I only look at blogs and tweets on Sunday. And my laptop is at home. I’m having breakfast with Sarah.”
“I know, sweetie. Has she told you anything? I told her I wanted to tell you.”
“She gave me a cowboy hat. Said I would need it in Texas.”
“You will, sugar. Maybe some boots, too. Do you have any cowboy boots? Never mind. You can buy some.”
“Richard, would you tell me what in the world you’re talking about?”
“You’re going to Texas, sweetie. Tomorrow. Sarah’s made all the arrangements. Tickets, hotel, reservations for a car. You leave tomorrow morning.”
“It’s too early in the day to be joking, Richard. And I didn’t get much sleep.”
“Darling, you need your beauty rest! And I’m serious. You are going to Texas. Tomorrow.”
Amanda paused, trying to wrap her head around what she had just been told. “You’re really serious?”
“As a heart attack, sweetie. I need you in Texas tomorrow.” Her boss practically purred.
“But Richard, I don’t do Texas. I do Western art but not on location. I barely know where Texas is. I may have flown over it once or twice.” She glanced at Sarah, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“You don’t have to know Texas sweetheart. Just art. Western art. This is right up your alley.”
“Who’s the client Richard? What is this all about?”
“A pair of brothers—Jake and Justin Morgan. They’ve got an honest-to-God cattle ranch out in West Texas about three hours northwest of Austin. Jake Morgan called me and said he wants to sell a painting. From his tone, I suspect he needs to raise some cash. Maybe cattle ranching hasn’t been a growth industry for the past few years.”
“What kind of painting Richard? Who’s the artist?”
Patterson couldn’t seem to conceal the excitement in his voice when he replied. “You won’t believe this sugar, but the man sent me a jpeg of a signed Charles Randell painting titled ‘Cowboy on a Horse.’ Typical Randell scene.”
“That could bring in a nice commission,” Amanda said.
“Oh, that’s not all. I’ve studied everything I could find on Randell. As far as I can tell, this painting has never been cataloged.”
“Do you think it’s real?”
“It could be. Morgan said the artist gave it to his great granddaddy back in the late 1800s. It’s been hanging on a ranch house wall for a hundred years. If it is an unknown Randell, it will be worth a small fortune.”
Amanda felt a slight constriction in her chest and realized she had been holding her breath. “No. It could be worth a big fortune if it’s the real deal.” She was trying to remember all she knew about one of America’s most famous Western artists. He had given away lots of paintings and drawings when he was first starting out. “Jesus, Richard. This sounds exciting!”
“Go home and open your email. But do it in the bathroom because you’re liable to pee your panties.”
Amanda’s mind raced. Charles Randell had done four thousand paintings, drawings, illustrations, and sculptures. Who could say he hadn’t done four thousand and one, or four thousand and two? It seemed every twenty years or so a new Randell painting or drawing surfaced somewhere.
“This could be a major find Richard, if it’s real. Do you know what the last unknown Randell brought at auction?”
“I do know, sugar. It made a very cool twelve million. That’s why you need to get your cute butt down to Texas. We need to make sure it’s authentic, at least as much as we can. And we need to get the Morgan brothers to sign with Peabody, Patterson & Cope as their exclusive brokerage firm.
“This could be huge for us Mandy. We’ll have to put it through the ringer to verify authenticity, but just in case it might be the real deal, we need you in Texas, shaking hands with the Morgan boys.”
“I’ll pack tonight,” Amanda said, already wondering what she should wear. “Do you really think I need cowboy boots?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Richard replied. “And wear the cowboy hat. Put on some tight jeans, too. We need to take advantage of your natural ass-ets!”
“You know I could sue your ass for sexual harassment, Richard. I only let you get by with all that ‘sugar’ crap because you’re as gay as a maypole.”
“I know, darling, I know.” Richard giggled. “Have fun in Texas. I can’t wait to hear what the Morgans have hanging on their wall. You should plan on spending the night at their ranch. They have a guest room and there are no hotels or motels within a hundred miles. Call me as soon as you know something. Anytime, day or night.”
Amanda clicked off and looked at Sarah, who hadn’t been able to wipe the grin from her face.
“Texas!” Amanda said.
“That’s right partner. Where they drive around with cow horns on the front of their land yachts. I’ve made your reservations. You change planes in Dallas. There will be a car waiting for you in Austin.”
Amanda smiled then slowly lifted the cowboy hat and sat it on her head, not caring that several people nearby were staring at her. “Texas,” she said again.
“And cowboys,” Sarah added. “Rugged, handsome cowboys.”
“Yeah, right. Those ranchers are probably fat and fifty. I’m interested in seeing the artwork.” She paused a moment. “I’m thinking about buying some cowboy boots. Want to go shopping with me?”
Sarah grinned then stuck her leg out to one side of the table. “No need to,” she said, pointing down at her foot. “You can borrow mine.”
Amanda looked down, then shook her head and grinned. Sarah was wearing a pair of pink ostrich skin boots. A wild collage of colorful jewels formed a peacock pattern on each side. “Thanks, but no. I don’t think a rhinestone cowgirl is who they will expect from a prestigious New York art brokerage firm.”
Amanda thanked Sarah for the cowboy hat, gave her an air kiss, and hurried home to look at the photo of the painting Richard had sent her. She spent the rest of the morning at the computer researching Charles Marion Randell. She couldn’t find any Randell works that matched the Morgan painting. And from what she could tell from the jpeg, the Morgan work had the same brushwork, color palette, and style as a genuine Randell.
The more she researched, the more excited she became. At five thirty she decided to take a break and, on a whim, searched the net for Manhattan stores that sold cowboy boots. She found a shop called Wayne’s Wild Wild West just blocks from her apartment. The shop closed at six on Sundays so she took a taxi, stopping to pick up batteries for her vibrator on the way. Half an hour later, she was back with a beautiful pair of hand-stitched boots in chocolate brown leather. Unlike Sarah’s bejeweled and dazzling pink pair, her new boots had a simple design of an eagle done in gold stitching on each side.
By nine, she was packed for an overnight trip. By ten she was in bed, hoping to get a few hours sleep before getting up at five to catch her flight. Sleep, however, fell victim to the excitement of possibly finding an uncataloged painting by one of America’s best known Western artists, and to the trip to Texas itself. She’d never thought about going to Texas. There were lots of places higher on her must-visit list. But now that she was going, even if just for overnight, she was looking forward to some scenery much different than Manhattan’s concrete canyons.
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