Her Unforgettable Fiance by Allison Leigh

Author:Allison Leigh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2001-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

A hard, flat disc of bright orange plastic sailed between them, landing at Brett’s feet.

The thick, suffocating tension that had arisen between them was just as unexpectedly broken.

Brett leaned over and picked up the Frisbee, sending it flying back to the kids with an easy expertise. And Kate realized that not all memories were painful.

She and Brett and Hamilton and whoever else was there at the time, chasing around on hot summer days. Either on Stockwell grounds, or at the Orwell estate. It hadn’t mattered where they were. Only that they were all together. That they were all friends.

Frisbees. Footballs. Baseballs. Horseback riding, fishing, swimming.

In just that moment, Kate remembered it all, and it washed over her in a soothing wave.

One of the teens caught the Frisbee with a wave and a shouted “thanks.” Brett threw away his empty water bottle and turned to her.

“We should get started again.”

She nodded and followed him out of the relative peacefulness of the green park to the busier sidewalk.

“You don’t want to wait to hear from Mr. Maldovan?”

“There’s no point in sitting on our thumbs doing nothing until we find out.”

Kate couldn’t argue. She knew that things were much safer between her and Brett when they could actively concentrate on their task. “Which gallery is next?”

He rattled off three, complete with street addresses and took her elbow as they crossed the busy corner. They walked for a few hilly blocks, then found the gallery in question. Brett opened the door for her and they stepped into the cool interior. He was already pulling the snapshot from his pocket.

Within minutes, they knew that this particular dealer wasn’t the one they sought. Kate wandered around, looking at the paintings and sketches while Brett continued conversing with the art dealer, trying to draw out any information that might possibly turn out to be useful.

When he joined her, Kate was standing in front of a large, square canvas covered in dark, bold brushstrokes.

“Anybody who hangs that in their living room is asking for nightmares,” he said after a moment.

“Not necessarily.” She pointed at the small card hanging on the wall next to the painting. “It’s entitled Cleansed.”

“Yeah, well, it looks to me like the artist should have cleansed his paintbrush a little more often.”

She smiled faintly. “It’s a cathartic painting, Brett. Surely you can see that. Sense it.”

“It looks like the inside of a serial killer’s mind to me,” he countered.

“See a lot of those, do you, to recognize it when you see it?” She rolled her eyes and looked from him back to the painting. It reminded her strongly of little Bobby Morales’s childish work. “Creativity is a tangible means of getting your feelings out in the open. Where they’re less overwhelming and more manageable. You look at this and see pain. I look at it and see the freeing of one’s pain.”

She felt his curious look, and flushed a little. “Not exactly a textbook description of what I do,” she answered his unspoken question, “but close enough.

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