Читать книгу The Rebel - Jan Hudson - Страница 14

Belle had seen some tough customers in her day, but this guy topped the list. Figuring him to be in his late thirties and about six-nine or so, she’d guess his weight at around three hundred pounds. But he wasn’t fat, just big. Huge. Think Shaq on steroids. He had arms and legs like tree trunks and shoulders wider than a bus grill. He wore jeans and a wind-breaker with enough fabric to make a hang glider. His head was shaved, and a scar curved from the corner of one dark eye to the edge of his grim mouth. She grew very, very still, watching him.

Then the other door opened, and Skye got out, followed closely by Gus.

Gabe smiled at the man. “Hello, there, Napoleon. How’s it going?”

“Fine, Mr. Burrell. Just fine. Good to have you back.”

“Good to be back. Belle, this is Napoleon Jones, Skye’s assistant.”

The assistant nodded toward Belle. She nodded back.

Tiger came running from the house and practically leapt into Napoleon’s arms. The big man laughed, a deep rich sound, and held the wiggling little dog gently against him as Tiger licked his face.

“How you doing, little guy,” Napoleon said, scratching Tiger’s head as the dog licked some more.

“Belle,” Skye said, “I see that Mother already has you posing for her.” Skye peeked over Flora’s shoulder at the sketches. “Wow. That’s really something, isn’t it? Mother can see things that no one else does, but I think she’s captured you beautifully.”

“These are just quick sketches,” Flora said. “The painting will be better. I’ll start on it tomorrow. Shall we go in for lunch? I imagine that Maria has things ready.”

Once inside at the table, Belle was shocked to see it laden with so much food. Enormous platters of meat and bowls of vegetables, along with salads and a tureen of soup, covered the huge table and sideboard. It looked more like a church potluck dinner than a simple lunch. She wondered about the waste since she and Skye and Flora had only soup and green salad.

She needn’t have wondered. Napoleon packed it away like no one she’d ever seen—and with four brothers and their friends, she’d seen some world-class eaters in her day.

When Belle finished, she said to Flora, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go upstairs and freshen up for our errand.”

“What errand?” Gabe asked.

“Your mother and I are driving into town.”

“I need to stop by the gallery, and I need to pick up a few things from Daisy’s,” Flora said.

“Are you sure that you’re up to the trip?” Gabe asked.

“I think so. If I get tired, I can wait in the car.”

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

Flora winked at Belle. “That means he’ll go along and supervise your activity level.”

“I’m fully capable of supervising my own activity level.” Belle’s words came out a bit sharper than she’d intended, but she’d never taken to being monitored.

Skye snorted, then hid it behind a cough.

Gabe chuckled. “Of course you are. It’s just that I’ve cleared my desk so that I have a couple of free hours, and I was hoping to take you for a drive around the village.”

“That only takes five minutes,” Skye said.

“True,” Gabe said. “We’ll circle the square twice.”

“Don’t forget that cereal,” Suki said. “And it wouldn’t hurt to pick up another quart of honey.”

Napoleon didn’t say a word. He merely ate. Ralph had kept pace with him for a few minutes, but he’d soon dropped out of the race.

GABE LOADED two paper-wrapped paintings into the back of his Lexus. He and Flora tried to insist that Belle ride up front with him, but she declined and climbed into the backseat instead, leaving a frustrated Flora to settle for the passenger seat.

Belle had a sneaking feeling that Flora was eager to play matchmaker. It wouldn’t work. She wasn’t interested in being matched with anyone—not even gorgeous Gabe.

They drove down the hill’s long, curving road until they came to a gatehouse. Belle was surprised to see that it was manned by a guard.

Gabe smiled and nodded. “Roscoe.”

Roscoe, a burly guy who looked like an ex-Marine, nodded back, then peered inside the car before he punched the gate open.

As they drove through, Belle said, “I’m surprised to see a guard on duty.”

“We get a lot of folks who don’t realize that ours is a private road,” Gabe said. “And don’t try to hop the fence. It’s electrified to keep our critters in and others out.”

“Electrified?” Belle said. “That seems a bit excessive.”

He chuckled. “You don’t know the deer around here. They can be very determined, and Suki has a fit if they get in her pea patch and herb garden.”

“Suki grows wonderful herbs,” Flora said. “And she’ll be planting her garden soon. Nobody grows vegetables like Suki. Of course Ralph helps her with the heavy work, tilling and such.”

“With all the limestone, I thought it might be too rocky around here for vegetable gardens,” Belle said.

“It takes some doing, but there are areas where the soil has been enriched,” Gabe said. “We even have a couple of vineyards around.”

“Gabriel is a partner in one of them, aren’t you, dear?” Flora said.

Belle allowed herself to be drawn into a conversation about local crops and wine, but she still thought it was odd to have an electrified fence and a guard at the gate. But then, she’d never lived on what could only be called an estate. In East Texas where she’d grown up, cattle guards and barbed wire served the purpose.

“This is Ranch Road Twelve,” Gabe said. “If you go west and hang a right at Dripping Springs, you’ll get to Austin.

This way takes us through Wimberley. Keep going and you’ll reach San Marcos. From there you can go north to Austin or south to San Antonio.”

“That’s our only major grocery store,” Flora said, pointing to a large building on a rise. “And there’s the visitor’s center.”

“And this is Cypress Creek,” Gabe said as they crossed a bridge that spanned a picturesque stream tumbling over a rocky ledge in a rush through town. “It joins the Blanco River just south of here.”

“Blanco,” Belle said. “I remember going to Blanco on a field trip when I was in junior high. Aren’t there some dinosaur tracks there?”

“Yep,” Gabe said, smiling. “In the next county. And this is the square. Except that it isn’t exactly square.” He pulled to a stop in front of a row of shops with wooden storefronts.

Belle glanced around at the colorful array of buildings. “Where’s the courthouse?”

“In San Marcos.”

“Pardon?”

“The courthouse for Hayes County is in San Marcos, the county seat,” Gabe said.

“When you said ‘square,’ I assumed that you meant courthouse square. Like our square in Naconiche.”

“No courthouse here,” Gabe said. “We don’t even have a jail.”

“What do you do with the bad guys?” Belle asked.

Gabe smiled. “We don’t have many bad guys, but the few assorted lawbreakers get carted off to the calaboose in San Marcos.”

“No police force?”

“Nope,” he said. “The county sheriff and his deputies handle things pretty well.”

“We frown on crime,” Flora said. “This is the Firefly, the gallery that handles my work.” She pointed to a shop painted a sun-weathered blue. “And Daisy’s Health Food is just beyond it.”

Gabe retrieved the paintings from the trunk while Belle and Flora got out and went inside the gallery.

When the bell over the door jingled, a tall, slender man, with more hair on his chin than on his head, turned from his customers. His face brightened. “Flora! Dear heart. Your timing is perfect.” He rushed over to envelop Flora in a hug, trailing a scent that reminded Belle of sweet potato pie and mint tea. “Where on earth have you been, darlin’? And who is this gorgeous lady with you?”

“This gorgeous lady is Belle Outlaw, our houseguest. Belle, this is Mason Perdue, the owner of the Firefly.”

“Mr. Perdue.” Belle offered her hand.

He grasped her hand in both of his and bowed slightly. “Mason will do. My late fahtha was Mr. Perdue. Are you an artist, Belle?”

“I’m afraid not.”

The bell jingled again, and Gabe came inside carrying the two paintings. “Where shall I put these, Mason?”

“By my desk for now if you don’t mind, Gabe. Belle, may I steal Flora away for a moment? These very nice people from San Antonio have stopped by and are absolutely enamored by her portraits. They’d like to discuss a commission with her.”

“Mason,” Flora whispered, “I wish you wouldn’t put me on the spot like this. You know how I feel about it.”

“Double your price, darlin’,” Mason whispered back. “They’re loaded, and I need to pay my light bill. Things have been slow this month.”

Flora rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Excuse me, Belle.”

“No problem. I’ll look around.”

“I’ll give you the guided tour,” Gabe said.

Amused, Belle asked, “Think I might get lost?” The gallery was no more than twenty feet square.

Gabe grinned. “You might lose yourself among all these bluebonnets.”

Belle soon discovered what he meant. About half the paintings were landscapes, and most of those were of fields of wild-flowers, primarily bluebonnets. But these weren’t poor attempts by somebody’s grandmother or a weekend hobbyist. They were beautifully done by a variety of artists.

“Are these local artists?” she asked.

“Most of them, I think,” Gabe said.

“Why so many bluebonnets?”

“Tourists, my dear,” Mason said from behind them. “They gobble them up—even the bad ones at the place down the street. By the end of wildflower season, we won’t have a one left. I’ve tried to get Flora to paint more bluebonnets, but, alas, one is all she’ll do for now. This is hers.” He hung one of the canvases Gabe had brought in an empty spot on her left.

Belle moved toward it and stopped dead still. It took her breath away.

“You can almost see the unicorns frolicking in the mists, can’t you?” Mason asked.

Unicorns? No. But she could almost see fairies dancing in the flower fields. “It’s…spectacular.” And the price discreetly displayed on a card in the corner was spectacular, too. It was well beyond her means—especially now that she didn’t have a job.

“I’ll wager that it’s gone by the weekend,” Mason said. He sighed. “God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to paint like that.”

“You don’t paint?” Belle asked.

“Compared to Flora, I merely dabble. I’m mediocre at best.”

“But an excellent teacher,” Gabe said.

Mason sighed. “You know what they say. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Belle said. “My oldest brother was an outstanding cop, and now he’s an excellent criminal justice teacher. I suspect that you’re a very good artist.”

“Good, I suppose, but not great. Look at these portraits of Flora’s.”

They walked along the display beside Flora’s landscape, and Belle stopped again to draw a deep breath. Spectacular didn’t begin to describe the three large paintings displayed there. A surreal quality radiated from the canvases, captivating her. Besides her own few pitiful attempts at sketching and watercolor, Belle didn’t know a great deal about art, but she recognized brilliance.

These were brilliant.

Beyond brilliant.

The first was of Napoleon, Skye’s assistant. His features were carved into a huge oak tree and into the craggy mountain behind it. Strength and endurance fairly shouted from the powerful painting, yet doves and a lamb rested among the tree branches and flowers grew at its base. Seeing the painting, Belle’s feelings about Napoleon subtly shifted. Rather than thinking of him as mean-looking, she saw him as powerful and fierce, but gentle and protective at the same time.

The second portrait was Mason and, while it was very different, it was no less awesome. On canvas, Mason became a wizard with a display of colored light circles illuminating the background. Each circle contained a different symbol, some Belle recognized, some she didn’t. A pied-piper sprightliness seemed to draw her to the twinkle in his eyes.

“Did she capture you?” Belle asked Mason.

“Absolutely. I’m astounded every time I look at it. Something stirs deep inside me.”

The third painting was of a little girl, a blond fairy clad in wispy drapes of moonbeams, lying prone beside a glade’s misty pool and surrounded by every type of animal from tigers to bunnies. The creatures seemed enamored of the fairy child, whose finger trailed in the water and spread ripples over the still surface.

A feeling of familiarity tugged at her, but Belle couldn’t name the subject. “Who?”

“Skye,” Gabe said. “She was about four or five.”

“No wonder she became a vet,” Belle said. “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed,” Mason said.

Feeling both energized and a bit drained, Belle moved on to look at the other paintings. None compared to Flora’s.

By the time they’d completed the perimeter, Flora had finished with her conversation, and they went next door to the health food store.

“Are you feeling tired?” Gabe asked.

“Not at all,” Belle said.

Flora introduced Belle to Daisy, the owner of the health food store. Daisy’s name suited her perfectly. A short, no-nonsense person, the owner was a trifle plump with an open, smiling face and a headful of white ringlets. While Flora bought cereal and honey, Belle looked among the shelves for a few things.

“What are you looking for?” Gabe asked.

“Something to replace all the good stuff killed off by the antibiotics that I took in the hospital. And I need to detoxify.”

“Sounds painful.”

Belle laughed. “Not really.”

Daisy joined them, offering help. When Belle related her needs, Daisy said, “I know just the thing.” She grabbed a couple of bottles from the shelf, bustled to a rounder of pamphlets and pulled several. “These tell you everything you need to know. And I’d suggest some of our yogurt as well. It’s made just down the road, and it’s excellent. Delivered this morning.” She retrieved two containers from the cooler. “Are you going to be with us long?”

“I hope not,” Belle said.

Daisy and Flora both lifted eyebrows.

“Is that a reflection of our hospitality?” Gabe said, clearly amused.

“Oh, no. That came out wrong. The hospitality is first-rate, but I’m only here to get back on my feet after an illness. I’m hoping I’ll be stronger in a few days.”

“Or a few weeks,” Gabe said.

“Wimberley has a special healing power,” Daisy said.

“You’ll be back up to snuff in no time. Why, just look at me. When I came here, the doctors said I had less than a year to live.”

“I’m so sorry,” Belle said.

“Don’t be,” Daisy replied with a grin. “That was fourteen years ago. I’m fit as a fiddle—except for my middle.” She laughed at her own joke and rang up their purchases. “The ice-cream shop next door is my downfall.”

“My mother owns an ice-cream shop in my home town,” Belle told her. “I love the stuff, too. Banana nut sends me into ecstasy.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Gabe murmured beside her ear.

A sudden flush warmed her, and Belle glanced quickly at Flora and Daisy, but they hadn’t heard. “Down, boy.”

Gabe laughed. “Yes, ma’am. And for the record, chocolate does it for me. Want to stop in for a scoop? Or two?”

“Not today. I’m fading fast.”

“Damn! Sorry I didn’t pick up on that,” he said, scowling. “Let me get you to the car.”

From his fierce expression, Belle was afraid that he’d throw her over his shoulder and take off. “Take it easy, Gabe. I’m okay. Just getting a bit tired. I’ve gotten too used to my afternoon nap.”

“You’re pale as a ghost. I’ve let you do too much too soon.”

“I’m fine, Gabe. Honestly.”

He ignored her protests, grabbed the bags of merchandise and steered her out the door, leaving his mother to trail after them. He refused to listen to her objections and installed her in the front seat and began buckling her seat belt.

She slapped his hands. “I can do that!”

“Feeling out of sorts, are we?”

She bit back a snotty reply. She felt six years old again, and she didn’t like it.

Belle had thought her brothers overly protective, but Gabe could hold his own with any of them. Her brothers’ over-bearing behavior had always rankled, but after years of hissing and spitting on her part, they’d finally learned to back off and keep their mouths shut. Most of the time. She hated coddling. She was tougher than a two-dollar steak, and she didn’t need to be carried around on a silk pillow. The sooner Gabe Burrell figured that out, the better things would be.