Almost Perfect by Julie Ortolon Page B

no willpower to resist her work, and my walls are covered. Seriously. I don't have an inch of space left."
    "Not even for a little painting?"
    He started to object again, then lowered his hand. "How little?"
    Maddy cocked her head, caught between anxiety and amusement to see this side of Joe. The movement was small, but it brought his attention back to her.
    "Oh." He pulled her forward. "Maddy, this is Juanita, a former counselor at Camp Enchantment. Juanita, Maddy, an artist from Texas. We're hoping to see Sylvia. Is she in?"
    "She's in the back. I'll buzz her."
    "Thanks."
    While Juanita made an intercom call, Maddy looked around to get a feel for what sort of art they liked. The galleries on Canyon Road had handled originals almost exclusively. This gallery, however, dealt heavily in limited edition prints by big-name artists. That hardly surprised her since prints were the bread and butter of many galleries.
    Then she peeked into one of the back alcoves and wrinkled her nose at the mess. More paintings leaned against the walls than hung on them. She started to turn away, but her gaze landed on a large canvas by one of the better-known cowboy artists.
    "Wow," she whispered, moving toward it.
    "What?" Joe whispered as well, although he sounded more amused than reverent.
    Maddy checked to be sure Juanita was out of earshot, then started flipping through the stacks of paintings. "I'll say this, what they lack in ambience, they make up for in quality."
    "Oh?" he prompted.
    "Definitely." She moved to another stack. The originals were all by established names in the world of Southwestern art, the very same artists whose prints filled the front. Any print gallery or mall poster shop who offered Southwestern art carried these artists' works, but few could get their hands on this many originals. "Your friend Sylvia has some major connections."
    "Didn't I just say that?"
    "Yes, but…" Maddy turned in a slow circle, taking it all in as jitters assailed her stomach. "I am way out of my league here." She rolled her eyes sideways to look at Joe, wondering if he'd stop her if she tried to bolt.
    His eyes narrowed in warning.
    An image suddenly popped into her head of her running for the door, Joe making a diving tackle, and them landing sprawled on the floor with his arms wrapped about her legs.
    Okay, so escape was not an option. She faced one of the few paintings actually hanging on the wall, gathering her courage and ordering herself not to panic.
    "May I help you?"
    With a start, Maddy turned. The woman stood nearly six feet in height with a rigorously maintained figure, a long fall of silver hair, and a face that took the word "weathered" and turned it into a fashion statement.
    "Hello, Sylvia." Joe extended his hand.
    "Joe Fraser." The woman smiled. "Always good to see you. Are you looking for anything special today?"
    "Actually, I'd like you to meet an artist friend of mine." He placed a hand on Maddy's back, right between her shoulder blades, and exerted enough pressure that she either had to step forward or fall on her face. "This is Maddy Howard—"
    "Madeline Mills," she corrected.
    "—from Texas. I wanted you to be the first dealer in Santa Fe to have a shot at taking on her work."
    "Oh?" The woman turned to Maddy with genuine interest. "What sort of work do you do?"
    "Oils mostly." She lifted the portfolio. "I brought photographs if you have time to take a look."
    "Always. Bring them over to the framing table where the light's better." Sylvia glided away.
    Maddy started to follow, but realized Joe was glued to her side. She stopped and lowered her voice. "I can handle things from here, okay?''
    "You sure?"
    "Yes." She made a shooing motion with her hand. "Go browse. Please?"
    Joe scowled, but stayed where he was, watching as Maddy joined Sylvia at a large table covered in carpeting. Molding samples filled the wall behind them. Maddy laid her portfolio on the table and opened it to the first page. She pointed and talked,