The Lottery Winner (12 page)

The front door opened and a couple she guessed to be in their fifties stepped out and descended the circular stairs to meet her. The man extended his hand. “Jessie, I'm Roger Clark, and this is my wife, Meredith. Welcome.”

“We're so happy to meet you,” the woman added. “Our daughter fell in love with your painting.”

To calm her nerves, she told herself to treat this like a parent-teacher conference. “Um...thank you.”

“Come in,” Mr. Clark added. “Mr. Nash said you hadn't made prints and that this was an original.”

Jessie tried not to gawk at the palatial two-story circular foyer with its gleaming white marble floors and staircase clinging to the wall. The architecture was stunningly beautiful with its clean lines and arches, but this was not the time to act like a country bumpkin. “Yes, that's right.”

“Then we're fortunate to have it. But you really should consider releasing it in a limited edition of signed and numbered prints. It's a good way to build an audience.”

“I...um, hadn't considered that. You wouldn't mind?”

“Oh, no. We buy a lot of art—usually limited art prints. It's something for you to think about—to help pay the bills. Once you get the painting scanned, you can decide later on if you'd like to do a print run. But remember, the smaller the run, the higher the price. Come this way.”

The living room was larger than her classroom back home and decorated in the same monochromatic white as the foyer. The only color in the room came from the artwork on three walls. Her jaw dropped when she recognized the artists of the other two.

“We're hanging yours here until Reagan leaves so we can all enjoy it.”

Jessie took a deep breath for courage before launching into her prepared speech that seemed doubly important now that they'd hung her with such superior and intimidating company.

“You're sure you don't mind me borrowing it? I can leave the money you paid for it with you until I bring it back, if you like.” That way if they changed their minds about the impulsive purchase, they could tell her—preferably over the phone—to keep the canvas.

The woman shook her perfectly coiffed platinum-blond head. “Oh, no, that's not necessary. We love the Fisherman's Widow. If we can pick it up there once you're done with it, we'll have the perfect excuse to drive down for one more meal before Reagan flies west.”

“But we do have one request,” Mr. Clark stated and Jessie braced herself. “We're hosting a going-away party for our daughter on Friday evening. We'd like it back before then.”

“We want our guests to see it,” his wife chimed in.

Adrenaline and nervousness pulsed through Jessie's veins, drying her mouth and dampening her palms. “I'll leave it with the printer today, then you can come Thursday evening for dinner or Friday for lunch.”

Her hostess pressed manicured hands together. “Lovely. We'll come Thursday. Would you be able to attend our party?”

Floored, Jessie gaped at the woman. That would be almost like a gallery show—something she'd never have. “I...um... I'm working at the Widow that night. But thank you for the invitation.”

“Where can we see more of your work?” Mr. Clark asked.

Surprise stole Jessie's breath. “I have two more hanging at the restaurant now.”

“You're exclusive to Miri?”

Her, exclusive? “Yes.”

“Then she's very fortunate,” Mrs. Clark said. “Now I'm looking forward to dining there even more. Roger will carry the painting to your car for you. It was so nice to meet you, Jessie, and if you change your mind about Friday night, you have our number. I know our daughter and our guests would love to meet you.”

Numbly, Jessie led the way to her car, said her goodbyes and drove out of the gate in a near stupor. She made it out of their neighborhood before pulling into a parking lot and pressing cold palms to her hot face. These people liked her work enough to want to share it, and her, with their friends. The idea filled her with so much excitement she did a little dance in her seat. She needed to tell someone. But who? Not her family. Nor her old friends or coworkers. Miri would probably want to know.

But Logan was the one who'd made this happen.

She had to thank him for arranging this meeting. But she didn't have his number. The only way to voice her gratitude was face-to-face.

* * *

L
OGAN
STARED
AT
the attractive redhead across the table from him and tried to feign interest in her descriptions of places she'd been to, but after a morning watching Jessie's nearly silent appreciation of nature, his date's chatter was too much noise. But if dating was the only way to get Miri to take some time for herself, then he'd man up and do it.

His attention kept drifting to his aunt. Logan watched her work the dining room and realized Jessie was right. Miri knew most of her patrons. And the ones she didn't know, she took the time to engage, leaving smiling faces in her wake.

“Logan, am I boring you?”

He snapped back to his guest. “No. I'm sorry. You've visited some great places. I was just watching my aunt.”

“Your aunt?”

“She owns this place.”

Alarm filled the woman's hazel eyes. “You brought me here to introduce me to family? I thought we were just...having a good time.”

His collar felt tight. “Right. That's the plan. But the Fisherman's Widow serves the best seafood in town. I couldn't take a travel agent somewhere inferior on her first trip to Key West, could I?”

She looked slightly pacified. “I have to admit the food and setting are fabulous, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm leaving in the morning and don't plan to return any time soon.”

Miri ducked back into the kitchen. She'd left him alone thus far, and he'd like to keep it that way. But before he could signal Sue to bring his check, his aunt returned, carrying a small tray. With her gaze trained on him, she headed straight for their table. Damn.

“We didn't order dessert,” he told her when he spotted two slices of pie.

“It's on the house. I know how much you love my piña colada pie.” Her expectant smile swung to his date. He blanked on the woman's name. Completely. Totally. Forgot it. He'd never done that before. He'd always been great with names and faces. It had been one of his assets back in Charleston.

After a beat, Miri extended her hand. “I'm Miri, Logan's aunt.”

“Angelina Jones,” his date responded.

“How do you know Logan?”

Cautious eyes flashed his way. “We met on Duval Street this afternoon.”

Miri's eyebrows lifted. “Really? And where are you from, hon?”

“Knoxville. I'm in town for a conference.”

“Pretty city. But far away. I hope you enjoy your visit to Key West, Angelina, and thanks for stopping by.” Miri pivoted and returned to the kitchen.

Busted.
Logan gritted his teeth. His charade had been fruitless. Unless he found a way to convince Miri otherwise, he'd have to repeat it—with better success next time. He searched again for Sue. The front door opened, and Jessie, wearing jeans and a pink shirt, walked in. His gut muscles clenched. With her windblown dark hair draping her shoulders and her cheeks flushed from this morning's sun, she made the woman across from him, with her perfectly styled hair and immaculate makeup, look artificial.

Jessie surveyed the room, spotted him and headed in his direction, then saw his date, U-turned and departed. What had she wanted? He had the urge to go after her and ask.

“Girlfriend?” Angelina asked.

“No. A waitress who works here.”

“Why'd she turn around and leave?”

“I don't know.” He threw some bills on the table. “Let me walk you back to your hotel.”

“But...” Her gaze flicked to her untouched dessert, then she smiled. “Okay. I'm too full for dessert anyway.”

He cringed inwardly. “Let me grab a takeout box.”

He retrieved one from behind the bar, slid both pieces of pie into it and offered his hand. She took it. Holding her hand did nothing for him, whereas touching Jessie this morning had been like grabbing a live electrical wire.

Not liking that realization, he led Angelina from the Widow. Outside, he searched the sidewalks and parking lots for Jessie but didn't see her. Neither he nor his date spoke as they covered the two blocks to her hotel. He halted outside the entrance and released her.

She tilted her head back. “Would you like to come up for drinks and dessert?”

The invitation for more than a good-night kiss lit her eyes and curved her lips. And he reacted no differently than he would looking at a parking meter. Maybe Elizabeth had killed more than his ability to trust women. But he wasn't interested in investigating that possibility tonight.

“You have an early start tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me company this evening. Good night.” Ignoring her frown, he handed her the dessert box and walked away.

He ought to regret turning down a sure thing. But he didn't. Angelina's cool composure had nothing on Jessie's childlike wonder, the ready smiles, quick gasps and quiet chuckles when something impressed her.

And he was out of his mind to be thinking like that about a woman who could be a crook in a girl-next-door disguise. And, he assured himself, the only reason he wanted to show her more of the local sights was to see what information he could get out of her.

In no time he was back at the Widow. He entered through the side door to the kitchen. Miri stood with Hal. She shot Logan a shrewd look and shook her head, then patted the cook on the shoulder and gestured for her office.

“Good try, but she was not marriage material,” she stated baldly.

“You didn't say marriage. You said date and get laid.”

“A wedding will follow those, I hope.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“All women are liars.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Logan Chancellor Nash?”

Ouch. The full name. He grimaced. “Of course not.”

“But I'm a woman, or at least I was last time I checked.”

“I'm not getting married again, Miri.”

“You won't as long as you're hung up on the past.”

Old material. “What did Jessie want?”

Miri's brow puckered. “Jessie? When?”

“Ten minutes ago. She came in the front door then turned around and left.”

“I haven't seen her today.”

“She didn't come back here?”

“No.”

He'd thought maybe she'd decided to use the employee entrance. If not, then had she wanted to talk to him? Why? “Let me have her number. I'll call her and ask.”

“I'll call her myself. If she needs anything, I'll text you. Now shoo. I'm trying to work.”

He recognized the stubborn cast of Miri's jaw and admitted defeat. Frustrated, he left.

Why had Jessie come in on her day off? And why had she turned around when she'd seen his date? He had to find out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

J
ESSIE
DESCENDED
THE
back stairs, intent on working off her unexplained agitation by swimming laps in the pool.

What was wrong with her? She had no claim on Logan. Just because he'd been good company once he'd eased up on trying to pry information from her. And he'd been great at pointing out wildlife and interesting plants. And her pulse had skipped every time he touched. No, none of that made their morning together a date.

So why had seeing him with the beautiful redhead tonight disturbed her? It had to be the full moon. There was no other logical explanation.

She reached the pool, and following the caretaker's instructions, she flipped on the underwater lights to make sure no unexpected guests had invaded the heated water. When she didn't spot any, she dropped her towel and dipped in a toe. The water was a few degrees warmer than the balmy seventy-six-degree air. Swimming in the winter was a luxury she didn't have at home.

Poised on the edge, she prepared to dive in, then remembered she hadn't removed her contacts. If she wanted to burn off energy, she'd have to go back inside to do that. Then a car horn honked nearby. That in itself was remarkable on her quiet street. The blast sounded again. She peeked around the wall of the dressing room/bathroom that shielded the pool/hot tub area from the street. Bright headlights beamed through her gate.

“Jessie!”

Logan. The same swooping sensation hit her stomach that she'd experienced when she'd realized he was on a date. What did it mean? She wasn't interested in him
that
way even if his low-riding swim trunks had made it very difficult to concentrate on nature this morning.

“Open up,” he shouted when she remained paralyzed in place.

She debated ignoring him. But he'd obviously seen her. And she needed to thank him. Backtracking, she grabbed her towel and bound it tightly over her swimsuit, then she cursed the fact that she'd left her sandals upstairs. If she hadn't she could have walked down the driveway and talked to him through the safety of the barrier. She'd learned in her first week here that the shells were sharp and a cut stayed sore for days. She couldn't risk needing medical attention for an infection.

Following the flagstone path back to the house, she hit the concealed button attached to one of the pylons. The iron gate opened. He drove his car into the courtyard and silenced the engine before climbing out.

“You got your light fixed,” she observed aloud.

“Yes. Are you okay?” The low, rumbled question was barely audible over his shoes crunching on the crushed shell driveway.

She clutched the towel tighter to her breast. “I'm fine. Why?”

“Why'd you U-turn at the Widow?” he countered.

So much for hoping he hadn't seen her. “I was going to thank you for setting up the meeting with the Clarks. I picked up my painting this afternoon. But it wasn't important enough to interrupt your date.”

“It wasn't a date.”

She gave him the look she reserved for students she suspected of fibbing, and he grimaced.

“Okay, it was a date. But not that kind of date. It was just a hookup.”

She flinched and wished he'd kept that unpalatable tidbit to himself. “And you took her to meet Miri!”

His frown deepened. “Not a sexual hookup.”

“Is there any other kind?”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “I'm trying to get Miri to take some time off. She said she would if I would.”

“Take time off? I never see you working.” She bit her tongue.
If you can't say something nice...

He looked even more uncomfortable than she felt. “I haven't dated since my divorce. She's pushing me into it. Tonight was for show.”

Something coursed through her. It was
not
relief. But then what was it? She didn't know. “How long ago was your divorce?”

His jaw shifted. “We're not talking about me.”

“You brought it up.”

“We split close to five years ago,” he offered grudgingly.

“That's a long time.”

“I've had other things to deal with and a business to set up here.”

“I see.” But she didn't. She couldn't imagine being hung up on Aaron that long. But she hadn't been married to him. Thank goodness.

“Anyway, you started this.”

She folded her arms and the knot of her towel broke free. His gaze dropped. She snatched the edges back together and retucked them, thankful the thick fabric hid her body's reaction. “And exactly how are you going to blame this on me, Mr. Nash?”

She hoped he missed her don't-bullshit-me teacher's voice.

“You said your mom had to force your grandfather back into life. That's what I'm doing with Miri. I'm trying to get her to think about something other than work.”

“That makes sense. But what if she's not ready?”

“I'm worried about what will happen to her if she keeps going at this pace.”

How sweet. “She does work a lot of hours.”

“More than ninety each week.”

And then she connected the dots. “You drove all the way out here to check on me?”

“Yes.”

“I... Thank you. But I'm fine. Really.”

The full moon highlighted his cheekbones and cast his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks into shadow. The combination of light and dark made his features even more interesting than usual. She'd only done a few portraits, but her fingers itched to try his. Maybe in oils. No. Charcoals.

“But...?” he prompted, jarring her out of her contemplation of gradients of gray.

She shook her head. “Nothing. They just—the Clarks, I mean—invited me to attend their daughter's going-away party and meet their friends. That was...unexpected.”

“I told you buyers like to meet the artist.”

He'd told her a lot of things that she hadn't been ready to hear. But she was starting to—
wanting to
—believe him now. Could her dad have been wrong about her not being able to make a living with her art? No. Her father was never wrong. He was the smartest man she knew, and he'd guided her on the right path every time she'd gone to him for advice.

But that was a moot point now anyway, since she no longer
needed
her salary. But she needed the job, she realized. Not just because she loved sharing her knowledge with her students, but also because it forced her to interact with others so she wouldn't revert to being the introverted homebody she'd been in her youth, who'd been more interested in her art than people.

She blinked from that startling insight back to the present. “You did tell me. But I... I'm not ready for that. They're picking up the painting at the Widow Thursday evening and they want to see more of my work.”

“Good.”

“I suppose I should get the other two scanned, too.”

“If you want a record of them before they sell.”

“
If
they sell.” She didn't want to get her hopes up any more than they already were.

“They will. Come in and get them early. Maybe the print shop can do it before we open. Bring more pieces in case they can't.”

Excitement quickened her pulse. “I will.”

“Do you want help choosing them?”

That meant inviting him in, and as off balance as she was today from her reaction to him and her recent self-discoveries, that was not a good idea. “Um. No. Thanks.”

A gust blew her hair across her face. Before she could untangle her fingers from her towel to push it back, Logan's hand was there. She froze. He captured the stray lock and tucked it behind her ear. The drag of his fingertip across her skin was unbearably erotic. Goose bumps lifted her skin and she struggled to suppress a shiver.

“You have beautiful hair. You never wear it down.” Then he dropped his hand, seemingly discomfited by his remark.

A twinge of guilt squashed out the pleasure his statement elicited. Would he say the same about her much lighter natural color? Her dark hair was symbolic of the lies between them. And even if they had passed a few memorable hours together, trusting his Mr. Nice Guy persona was still out of the question. She had to remember that it hadn't been that long ago that he'd been out to expose her.

“It's not practical or hygienic to wear it loose at work.”

“No. Guess not.”

Standing here beside him felt intimate. The full moon was definitely messing with her equilibrium. She had to get rid of him. “Thanks for stopping by. I'll see you in the morning.”

She didn't release her pent-up breath until the gate slid closed behind his vehicle.

* * *

“G
OOD
MORNING
,
M
IRIAM
L
OUISE
.”

Miri startled and nearly dropped her spatula into the pot. She spun around. Logan's PI stood in the delivery door. “An ex-cop should know better than to barge uninvited into a business. You're likely to get shot.”

“If you have a weapon, you're smart enough to keep it concealed in your office near your cash drawer. And if you don't want company, you should keep your door locked.”

She did have a pistol beneath her desk. Not that she'd ever needed it. Oyster stew dripped across her fingertips. “My staff will be arriving soon. What do you want, Ignatius?”

The white paper bag in his hand crinkled in his fist. “Bethany called and invited me to lunch. Just her and me. The girls are in school.”

“And?”

He shrugged. If she hadn't seen the tension in his face, she might have fallen for the dismissive gesture. “And nothing. I'm just making a statement.”

Lord, this man was a mess. But his awkwardness told her more than anything how much rebuilding his relationship with his daughter meant to him. “Where are you going to take her?”

“Here?”

“No. You've brought her here already. As much as I'd appreciate the business, you need to go somewhere different. Somewhere quieter. Is she squeezing you in on her lunch hour?”

He nodded.

She set aside her spatula and washed her hands while she mentally ticked through a list of her favorite places. “The deli by the butterfly garden is close and it has parking nearby.”

“That sissy place? Real men don't eat quiche. Or haven't you seen that bumper sticker?”

“Who are you trying to impress? Your knuckle-dragging friends or your daughter? The deli's food is delicious.”

“Right. Good idea.” Then he seemed to remember the bag in his hand. “Brought you these. Lemon custard–filled doughnuts.”

Her favorite. But how in the world did he know that? “Has Logan been talking?”

“He's the one who told me about the bakery, but I caught Sue coming out of the shop last week. She said she always brought you one when she was near there.”

Miri was touched even though she didn't want to be. “If you brought enough for two, I'll pour you a cup of coffee.”

“I did.”

She filled two mugs and brought them to the work island. “Pull up a stool.”

He joined her and for several moments silence reigned as she enjoyed the tart-sweet combination of her favorite confection. She'd been trying to pry the recipe from the baker for years with no luck, and she hadn't been successful in recreating the filling, either. He must have a secret ingredient.

She hated to pop the last bite into her mouth. Once she did, she licked her sticky fingers. When she caught Ignatius watching her, her cheeks warmed. For pity's sake, she was too old for blushing. “Wipe that grin off your face and go wash your face and hands. You have glaze all around your mouth.”

“Don't s'pose you'd take care of that for me?” He waggled his bushy brows.

The twinkle in his eyes fanned the warmth to fire. She wasn't about to kiss the big lug—or anyone else. “Not a chance.”

“Shame.” He washed up, dried his hands and wiped his face with the damp paper towel.

She didn't go near the sink until he moved away. “I need to get back to work. I'm sure lunch with your daughter will go well. Thanks for the treat.”

He didn't take the hint and leave. “What can you tell me about Logan's ex?”

The delightful taste in her mouth turned bitter. “Is that why you brought me the doughnut? As a bribe so you could question me?”

His neck and face turned ruddy. “I was bringing the pastries anyway, but I thought while I was here I'd see if you could give me something fresh for my search. I've exhausted every avenue Logan's given me.”

She thought of the letter she'd received several months back, but she wouldn't tell him or Logan about it. Logan needed to move on, and bringing his lying ex back into his life would hinder that. She didn't know if he still had feelings for the conniving bi—
witch
, but his lack of relationships made her fear that he did. And that would not do. Elizabeth had moved Logan to Charleston and turned him into a money-hungry machine that Miri and Jack hadn't recognized and didn't care for on the few occasions they'd seen him. She couldn't risk a repeat.

“The best thing you can do with your search is drop it.”

“Your nephew insists otherwise. There's no deterring him.”

“I wouldn't help you even if I could. Now get out of my kitchen and don't come bearing deceitful gifts again.”

Disappointed, and angry because she was disappointed, she shut the door behind him and turned the lock. Ignatius Smith was bad news. For her. And for her nephew. Key West would be a better place if he moved on.

* * *

T
HE
KNOB
DIDN
'
T
budge when Jessie tried to turn it. Miri never locked this door when she was here, and she was always in the kitchen long before nine. Had Logan convinced her to take some time off? Jessie knocked. The door whooshed open so quickly she jumped back a step.