“Why not both?” I muttered, earning another laugh.
She laced her fingers through mine and pulled me toward the cake. “Look at this. Aspen’s a genius.”
“I know. I already told her.”
“I’m going to get so fat. I want to eat every bite.”
“I’ll roll you home,” I said. “Or just carry you.”
She squeezed my hand, and for a minute, everything felt like it was supposed to.
Then I heard Lysander’s laugh, sharp as a knife, from the entryway.
He swept in with Inez on his arm, both of them done up to the nines. Lysander had on a suit that probably cost more than my truck, navy withblack velvet lapels, and he moved like he owned every molecule in the room. Inez was in a short, spangly number, her hair in an elaborate updo, makeup flawless. They looked like they’d walked off a runway.
Lysander made a show of noticing us, then glided over, a glass of champagne already in hand.
“My, my, you make a striking figure all cleaned up, Mr. Walsh,” he said, his eyes roving up and down the length of me, then lingering on Brie. “And as for you, darling—there are no words.”
Brie grinned, basking in the attention. “Thanks, Sander. You look expensive.”
He belted out a laugh, then turned back to me, voice dropping into something a little too intimate. “I was hoping we’d get a moment alone tonight. There are things we should discuss with regard to Brie’s art. About… the next phase.”
Something in the way he said it made my skin crawl.
I stepped forward, a hand at the small of Brie’s back. “Nice to see you, Lysander. Everything looks great.”
He smirked, like he knew exactly what I was doing, then tipped his glass to me. “You’re a lucky man, Finn. Don’t ever forget it.”
Brie rolled her eyes, then elbowed me in the ribs. “I need to go say hi to Harper and Juliet before the crowd gets here. You gonna be okay without me?”
“I can handle myself,” I said.
She squeezed my arm, then drifted off into the crowd.
Lysander watched her go, then leaned in. “If you hurt her, I’ll have to kill you,” he said, not quite joking.
I stared him down. “Odd threat seeing as how you barely know her. And right back at you,buddy.”
He grinned. “Touché, cowboy.”
Then, he and Inez vanished into a group of buyers, who'd started arriving, laughing and air-kissing like it was what they were born to do.
I stood by the cake, feeling like the last man standing at a wedding reception. I wandered to the bar and asked for a finger of whisky, tried to blend in, and kept an eye on the door.
I never wanted to punch anyone in the face more than that guy. It was going to be a long night. But at least for now, I could see my mate in the middle of the crowd, shining so bright even the darkness took a bow.
Chapter 21
Brie
It wasn’t real until I stood smack in the center of my own gallery, breathless in the hush between violin notes and the low, bubbling talk of a crowd that now belonged to me.
Wildbrush Gallery was filled with who’s-who of Dairyville, and art buyers from Amarillo, Santa Fe, and throughout Texas. The core of the Iron Valor pack surrounded me with warmth and a sense of family. The storm that had howled through the panhandle last night left the glass storefront so clean it looked newly minted. The light—that impossible Texas sunset light—came in gold and lavender rays through the windows, lighting up the whitewashed walls like a movie set.
My paintings hung around the perimeter, circling the beautiful exhibition we’d curated of Inez’s paintings. Every frame was aligned, every piece perfectly spot-lit so you couldn’t see a single flaw. The gallery temperature was perfect, not just from the air conditioning, but from the glow of bodies in dresses and jackets and boots; some that still carried a dusting of pasture on the heels. People stood in small groups and lines, clutching crystal flutes of champagne, glasses of whiskey and even a margarita or two from the cash bar. They were tilting their heads at my work, making appreciative “hmmm” sounds and talking about “color story” and “emotional depth”like it was all perfectly normal and not the result of two years spent scrabbling in obscurity with a paintbrush and a chip on my shoulder.
I was honestly shocked. I thought all eyes would be too focused on Inez’s breathtaking canvases to have bothered with the paintings displayed against the bricks. Deep down I knew my pieces were good. But it’s not a thought I’d ever allowed myself to speak aloud. But since this gallery was mine, I figured no one would balk at the display of my own work. I’ll be damned if strangers didn’t agree with my assessment and think my painting had merit. Good on me. I smiled to myself as I strolled along listening to strangers’ assessments of my use of light and how my brushstrokes “capture the movement of the wind on the wildflowers.”
