Driven to Distraction (Silhouette Desire S.) by Sheri Whitefeather, Dixie Browning Page B

disaster.” He set her down on the broken concrete walk, then jogged off to gather up anything the rain might damage. Staring after him, Maggie had a sinking feeling that the kind of trouble she was in had nothing to do with slick steps and three-inch platforms.
    â€œWhat about your boots?” she called after him.
    Without turning around, he waved a dismissing hand and began gathering up painting equipment. Maggie glowered. “Talk about vanity, there’s not a horse within fifty miles of this place.”
    Suzy dashed past her, both arms full, a knowing grin on her piquant face. “Oh, shut up,” Maggie grumbled. Grabbing the supplies she’d left on her rickety card table, she glanced around to see if anyone needed help. The rain was falling harder now, plastering her hair to her head, her shirt to her back. Dodging others on the same mission, she collectedwhatever she saw that looked in need of rescuing and hurried back inside.
    Charlie helped her unload and distribute materials, then Ben came up behind her, laid a big, warm hand on her shoulder and said, “You get everything in? Need me to go back out and bring in the rest?”
    â€œThanks, I’m fine,” she said, sounding breathless and hoping he put it down to exertion. “I guess we don’t need to worry about the tables.”
    Charlie grumbled, “Maybe I should’ve left my morning’s work out in the rain. Couldn’t hurt—might even help. Did I tell you about the time I was painting on a dock down in Southport and a gull flew over and made a deposit on the seascape I was working on? Actually, it didn’t look too bad. I had to wash off some of the texture, but the gray cloud worked out pretty well.”
    Ben chuckled and placed his hand on Maggie’s back, ushering her into the front hall where the others were examining their belongings for rain damage. A rash of goose bumps shivered down her spine, radiating outward from his hand. She ducked away and was considering dashing back to her room for a dry shirt when a loud thump sounded from overhead. Several people looked up. One woman fingered her hearing aid.
    Someone said, “Thunder?”
    Charlie said, “Perry dropped his attitude?”
    â€œSounded more like he dropped a load of bricks,” offered a woman whose work Maggie had admired in yesterday’s critique.
    Before anyone could go investigate, Perry appearedat the head of the stairs, attitude intact. “No problem, dears, just some paper I had delivered.”
    So that was what was in that carton. Maggie had heard all about the advantages of three-hundred-pound watercolor paper over the cheap pad she’d bought at the discount store. She hadn’t thought it meant the stuff literally weighed three hundred pounds.
    Rubbing his hands together, Silver beamed down at them. “Everyone finished with lunch? Good, good—shall we get on with the afternoon session then?”
    â€œDo we have any choice?” Ben muttered softly.
    â€œAmen,” Maggie echoed. Considering how much it was costing her, she really should try to get something out of it. So far, she hadn’t collected a speck of evidence that would convince Mary Rose that this skunk was risky marriage material. All she’d learned was that she had the wrong kind of paints, the wrong kind of brush and the paper she’d paid nearly ten bucks a tablet for was barely a step up from newsprint. Evidently imported was the only way to go.
    Add to that the fact that she was highly susceptible to slow-talking, slow-walking Texans who were also totally out of their element, and she was in so far over her head she needed a snorkel just to breathe.
    Ann slid into place almost an hour into the afternoon lesson. Maggie didn’t hear her approach, as the rain that had started shortly after noon drummed steadily on the roof so that it was hard to hear anything at all.
    â€œHi. We missed you this