She opened her car door, and he cleared his throat. “Why are you offering to pay my daughter so much to paint a mural?”
Debbie shrugged. “I told you, I really like Savannah’s style.”
“But why offer her so much?” He waved a hand. “I know you explained the going rate thing, but despite being gifted, Savvy’s young and inexperienced with this kind of thing.”
Debbie shrugged. “I can’t explain it, but I just really want Savvy to do this painting.” Debbie lowered her gaze as she pressed the toe of her shoe into the crack in the driveway. “Someone taught me years ago if you want something, you go for it. You know, make people an offer they can’t refuse.”
A bitter taste filled Austin’s mouth and his stomach knotted. Of course, rich people got everything they wanted by throwing money around.
Debbie met his gaze as though daring him to find fault with her tactics.
He bit his tongue. He knew from experience how demanding and picky wealthy people could be. And he didn’t want Savvy at the mercy of this woman. But could he withhold this incredible opportunity from his daughter?
“What if she doesn’t do a good enough job?” That sounded horrible, like he didn’t believe in his daughter’s artistic abilities. She was extremely talented, but she’d never undertaken something of this magnitude. “I mean, what if you don’t like the way the mural turns out?”
“She’ll still get paid, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, according to the deadline on that flier I probably ought to pay her up front.”
Austin didn’t want it to look like he was only worried about the money. He was much more concerned about what this might do to Savvy’s self-esteem if she couldn’t please the wealthy redhead. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that Savannah’s never had a job let alone worked for someone like you.”
Debbie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you meansomeone like me?”
Heat rushed up Austin’s neck. “I didn’t mean… Look, I’ve worked for wealthy people before, and I know they can be…particular about things.”
“So, because I’m wealthy, you think I’ll be picky and unreasonable?” When Austin ducked his head, Debbie went on, “I have no doubt I’ll be pleased with Savannah’s painting, but if it doesn’t turn out like I hope, then we’ll paint the wall and start over.” She shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. But don’t worry, I’d never be spiteful about it. I’d only paint over it if Savannah isn’t happy with the way it turns out.”
Once the project was finished, Savvy wouldn’t have a reason to go to Debbie’s house anymore, so she’d never know if Debbie decided to paint over it.
Austin looked up at the sound of a screen door closing.
His neighbor, Darrell Miller, walked out of his house carrying a bag of trash. Darrell raised a hand in greeting.
Austin returned the wave before turning back to Debbie. “I see. Well, I still need to give it some thought. I’ll let you know in a day or two.”
Debbie smiled, and Austin’s heart jolted. She was a pretty woman, but when she smiled, her whole face lit up, and she was positively radiant. Like her red hair.
He watched her climb into her SUV and back out of the driveway.
After depositing his trash in the garbage can, Darrell wandered toward Austin. “Was that Widow Wheeler? I almost didn’t recognize her without the Porsche and with the way she was dressed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh sorry, Debbie Wheeler. Folks around here call her Widow Wheeler.”
Widow?
Was that how she came by her money? Austin turned raised eyebrows to Darrell, hoping the man would explain further. Darrell was about as big of a gossip as there ever was.
“Well, we don’t call her that to her face of course. But when she came back to town after her second husband—the wealthy one—died, she kept informing people she was a widow, as if we all thought she might have gotten her money by illegal means or something. Funny thing though, she went back to her maiden name of Wheeler, so Widow Wheeler sort of stuck.”
“Widow, huh?”
Her second husband died, but why did her first husband let her go?
Maybe he wasn’t wealthy enough to support the lifestyle she wanted.
