door. “If you’ve got some time over the weekend, I can fiddle with my schedule. We could work on color schemes and treatments.”
“I’ve got a lot of work.” Savannah pulled open the door, suddenly desperate to escape. “You’d better handle it on your own. See you around.”
“All right, but—” Regan broke off with a huff when the door closed in her face. She had definitely, and none too subtly, been brushed off. “And what,” she asked, turning to Rafe, “was that all about?”
“Don’t ask me.” Thoughtfully he ran a hand over his wife’s glossy hair. “That’s a spooky lady, darling. Let’s go sit down, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Chapter 6
W hen Jared pulled up in front of the cabin, he was puzzled, mildly annoyed, and quite intrigued. It hadn’t taken long for word to get to him that Savannah had all but raced out of his brother’s house, shrugging off the job Jared had offered her as she fled.
He intended to get an explanation.
Spotting Bryan and Connor in the side yard, he gave a wave. They responded with an answering shout before they went back to the important business of throwing a baseball.
His rap on the door went unanswered, so he walked in without invitation. He doubted he’d have heard one over the screaming rock and roll that shook the cabin. He followed a gut-bursting guitar riff through the kitchen and into an adjoining room.
She was bent over a worktable. The white of the oversize men’s undershirt she wore was streaked with paint. Her hair was twisted back in a braid, her jeans were riddled with holes, and her feet were bare.
His mouth watered.
“Hey.”
She didn’t look up. A look of fierce concentration remained on her face as she worked delicately with a slim brush dipped in brilliant red.
He glanced around the cluttered room. It had probably been intended as a mudroom, as there was a door leading to the outside. Obviously she didn’t need or have time for ambience in her work space, he mused.
The light was full and bright through the windows and showed every speck of dust. The floor was aging linoleum decorated with paint spills. Unframed canvases were propped carelessly against the unfinished log walls, steel utility shelves overflowed with bottles and jars, tubes and cans. He could smell turpentine.
And, with relief, he could see the dented portable stereo that was threatening to split his eardrums. He strode over, switched it off, and almost shuddered at the sudden, exquisite silence.
“Keep your hands off my music,” Savannah snapped.
“Obviously you didn’t hear me come in.”
“Obviously, I’m working.” She tossed her brush into a jar of solution, chose another. “Take off.”
His eyes lit, but he spoke with measured politeness. “Yes, I believe I will have a beer, thanks. Can I get you one?”
“I’m working,” she repeated.
“So I see.” Ignoring the curse she hurled at him, he leaned over her worktable.
The wicked queen was nearly finished, and her face was terrible in its beauty. Her body was long, elegant, draped in purple and ermine. Her golden crown was as sharp as blades and glittered with wicked-edged jewels. And in her narrow, regal hand, she held a vivid red apple.
“Gorgeous,” Jared murmured. “Evil to the bone. Is this from ‘Snow White’?”
“No, it’s from the Three Stooges. You’re in my light.”
“Sorry.” He shifted slightly, knowing it wasn’t what she wanted.
“I can’t work with an audience,” she said between her teeth.
“I thought you used to paint on street corners.”
“This is different.”
“Savannah.” Patient, he rubbed a slight red smudge from her cheek. “Did Rafe or Regan say something to upset you?”
“Why should they?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“They were perfectly polite. Perfectly.” When he only cocked a brow, she huffed out a breath. “I like your brother, I loved seeing the house. It was fascinating. And your sister-in-law’s just
“I’ve got a lot of work.” Savannah pulled open the door, suddenly desperate to escape. “You’d better handle it on your own. See you around.”
“All right, but—” Regan broke off with a huff when the door closed in her face. She had definitely, and none too subtly, been brushed off. “And what,” she asked, turning to Rafe, “was that all about?”
“Don’t ask me.” Thoughtfully he ran a hand over his wife’s glossy hair. “That’s a spooky lady, darling. Let’s go sit down, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Chapter 6
W hen Jared pulled up in front of the cabin, he was puzzled, mildly annoyed, and quite intrigued. It hadn’t taken long for word to get to him that Savannah had all but raced out of his brother’s house, shrugging off the job Jared had offered her as she fled.
He intended to get an explanation.
Spotting Bryan and Connor in the side yard, he gave a wave. They responded with an answering shout before they went back to the important business of throwing a baseball.
His rap on the door went unanswered, so he walked in without invitation. He doubted he’d have heard one over the screaming rock and roll that shook the cabin. He followed a gut-bursting guitar riff through the kitchen and into an adjoining room.
She was bent over a worktable. The white of the oversize men’s undershirt she wore was streaked with paint. Her hair was twisted back in a braid, her jeans were riddled with holes, and her feet were bare.
His mouth watered.
“Hey.”
She didn’t look up. A look of fierce concentration remained on her face as she worked delicately with a slim brush dipped in brilliant red.
He glanced around the cluttered room. It had probably been intended as a mudroom, as there was a door leading to the outside. Obviously she didn’t need or have time for ambience in her work space, he mused.
The light was full and bright through the windows and showed every speck of dust. The floor was aging linoleum decorated with paint spills. Unframed canvases were propped carelessly against the unfinished log walls, steel utility shelves overflowed with bottles and jars, tubes and cans. He could smell turpentine.
And, with relief, he could see the dented portable stereo that was threatening to split his eardrums. He strode over, switched it off, and almost shuddered at the sudden, exquisite silence.
“Keep your hands off my music,” Savannah snapped.
“Obviously you didn’t hear me come in.”
“Obviously, I’m working.” She tossed her brush into a jar of solution, chose another. “Take off.”
His eyes lit, but he spoke with measured politeness. “Yes, I believe I will have a beer, thanks. Can I get you one?”
“I’m working,” she repeated.
“So I see.” Ignoring the curse she hurled at him, he leaned over her worktable.
The wicked queen was nearly finished, and her face was terrible in its beauty. Her body was long, elegant, draped in purple and ermine. Her golden crown was as sharp as blades and glittered with wicked-edged jewels. And in her narrow, regal hand, she held a vivid red apple.
“Gorgeous,” Jared murmured. “Evil to the bone. Is this from ‘Snow White’?”
“No, it’s from the Three Stooges. You’re in my light.”
“Sorry.” He shifted slightly, knowing it wasn’t what she wanted.
“I can’t work with an audience,” she said between her teeth.
“I thought you used to paint on street corners.”
“This is different.”
“Savannah.” Patient, he rubbed a slight red smudge from her cheek. “Did Rafe or Regan say something to upset you?”
“Why should they?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“They were perfectly polite. Perfectly.” When he only cocked a brow, she huffed out a breath. “I like your brother, I loved seeing the house. It was fascinating. And your sister-in-law’s just
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