Games of the Heart
Page 100
The house, Dusty told him, was planted smack in the middle of the twenty acres she owned.
Twenty.
Plenty of room for her to roam and exercise her horses. Solitude for her to create her work. Not a single housing development in sight. Beauty as far as the eye could see.
The Holliday farm was more than fifty times the space but from April to November, the vast majority of that land was taken up with corn.
You could not ride a horse through corn.
Mike took a sip of beer then dropped his hand and left it curled around the bottle on the counter, his mind continuing to sift through the things he’d learned that day.
Dusty’s gallery was less than an hour’s drive away and they’d arrived late morning. They’d driven to it early afternoon because Dusty needed to meet with the gallery manager.
She’d told him and he saw upon arrival that she didn’t sell only her own work but the gallery showcased only local artisans’ wares. More pottery plus paintings, jewelry, glasswork, sculptures, carvings, Native American and Mexican art in all forms. It wasn’t large but it was attractive and she’d done it smart. There was something to fit a wide variety of tastes and incomes from postcards to handmade notecards to attractive but inexpensive one-of-a-kind stud earrings to one of the large pieces of art costing over two thousand dollars. When they arrived at the gallery which was located right on San Antonio’s popular River Walk, regardless that it was Friday afternoon, there were several patrons. It wasn’t packed but it wasn’t deserted.
And it was the first time Mike had seen her work. Considering what she told him it cost, although Mike was not into pottery, he was expecting it to be impressive.
He was right. It was. But it was more. Unusual, fluid, almost whimsical shapes but surprisingly glazed in subtle, muted hues – creams, beiges, grays and deep lilacs. It was eye-catching, extraordinary. They were not pieces you would take home and use to put flowers in or serve up mashed potatoes. It was meant to be exhibited, each piece being one that would bring elegance to a room.
As he watched her interact he saw Dusty clearly had a close, trusting relationship with the clerks and the manager. She chose the art and supplied her own; they displayed it and sold it. She told Mike that she had twice monthly meetings with the manager then let the woman do her own thing. Dusty made pottery and deposited checks. The gallery manager even managed Dusty’s pieces being supplied to other shops and galleries throughout the west.
Dusty had an accountant, a man who tended her land, a housekeeper and a manager. Dusty went to classes with her friend Jerra. She made her pottery. She toured Texas, meeting other artists and attending events that displayed and sold her work. She had dinner parties, went to them, ate out or went for drinks frequently with friends.
She had a good life in Texas.
Perfect.
No hassle, no headache (except LeBrec), she didn’t even clean her own damned clothes.
All good.
Mike did not have a housekeeper and looking into private schools on his own for Reesee, he never would. In fact, if his daughter didn’t qualify for a scholarship, there was no way in hell he’d be able to swing the tuition and still he couldn’t hire a housekeeper.
Even without grief, Debbie’s tricks and McGrath, Mike couldn’t provide Dusty a life without hassle and headache seeing as his was filled with teenagers and an ex who liked to play games.
He heard the deep thud of the heels of cowboy boots hit tile and his body jolted, pulling him out of his thoughts. His eyes moved to Dusty to see her rounding the bar that delineated the kitchen from the living room, her gaze on him.
He pulled in breath.
Her hair was a sleek, thick fall down her shoulders and chest. She had a little tee on that stretched tight at her tits but had some room, minimal though it was, at her midriff. It was bright purple and in grays and lighter shades of purple there was a cowgirl on it, chaps over a fringed skirt, cowboy hat, in mid-throw of a lasso. Charcoal gray suede belt with a big, silver belt buckle looped through her faded jeans. Black cowboy boots. More gray suede, this a thin strip wrapped again and again as a choker around her throat and at the front, small, round silver medallions hung. There was more silver at her ears and wrists. And even though they were going to a place that titled itself a “Saloon and Hoedown” her makeup was deeper and said, plainly, “fuck me”.
Taking in her appearance and affected by it in a multitude of ways, he didn’t move as she made it to him. He noted instantly her usual musky, floral, outdoorsy scent was deeper than normal and he noted this as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed close.
Her back was arched, her head tipped way back to keep her eyes on him and softly, she said, “They’ll be cool. If they aren’t, we’ll go home early.”
She was talking about the kids spending an extra night with Audrey. He liked it that she cared and was thinking about his kids.
But she was wrong about the train of his thoughts.
“I know they’ll be cool. They’re good kids. Though, not sure if Reesee will make it an entire weekend without breathing Fin’s air.”
Dusty grinned at him and pressed closer.
Fuck, f**k, she was beautiful.
Even more here, at home, in her element.
He wasn’t holding her and he didn’t but he did lift a hand to cup her jaw.
When he did, his eyes moving over her face, he murmured, “Think, right now and maybe forever, you’re the most beautiful woman I ever have and ever will see.”
He felt her body press deeper into him as her eyelids got soft and her lips parted.
Then she whispered, “Sometimes Jonathan Michael Haines, you kill me.”
Last night, when Dusty (and Fin) were over, No had shared Mike’s full name and since then Dusty had used it fifty times.
He slid his hand down to her neck and asked, “What’s with the full name business, Angel?”
She grinned again and her arms gave him a squeeze.
“I didn’t know that about you,” she answered. “I found it a shock,” she widened her eyes and got up on her toes, “an actual shock that I didn’t know something about you.” She rolled down on her feet, kept grinning and talking. “This is so easy. It feels like we’ve been together forever sometimes. So I say it because I like to remind myself we’re new and I have a wealth of things to uncover about Jonathan,” she shook his middle, “Michael,” she shook it again, “Haines.” She ended on a squeeze and a smile.
She was so f**king adorable, not able to stop himself but also not trying, Mike slid his hand into her hair, bent his neck and dropped his mouth to hers. Her lips opened, his tongue slid inside and he kissed her with both her arms around him, his one hand wrapped around a beer resting on her kitchen counter, his other hand buried in her hair. With her pressing herself tight against him, he took his time, he built it for the both of them and he only broke it when she pressed deep and he heard that sexy little noise slide up the back of her throat.
Twenty.
Plenty of room for her to roam and exercise her horses. Solitude for her to create her work. Not a single housing development in sight. Beauty as far as the eye could see.
The Holliday farm was more than fifty times the space but from April to November, the vast majority of that land was taken up with corn.
You could not ride a horse through corn.
Mike took a sip of beer then dropped his hand and left it curled around the bottle on the counter, his mind continuing to sift through the things he’d learned that day.
Dusty’s gallery was less than an hour’s drive away and they’d arrived late morning. They’d driven to it early afternoon because Dusty needed to meet with the gallery manager.
She’d told him and he saw upon arrival that she didn’t sell only her own work but the gallery showcased only local artisans’ wares. More pottery plus paintings, jewelry, glasswork, sculptures, carvings, Native American and Mexican art in all forms. It wasn’t large but it was attractive and she’d done it smart. There was something to fit a wide variety of tastes and incomes from postcards to handmade notecards to attractive but inexpensive one-of-a-kind stud earrings to one of the large pieces of art costing over two thousand dollars. When they arrived at the gallery which was located right on San Antonio’s popular River Walk, regardless that it was Friday afternoon, there were several patrons. It wasn’t packed but it wasn’t deserted.
And it was the first time Mike had seen her work. Considering what she told him it cost, although Mike was not into pottery, he was expecting it to be impressive.
He was right. It was. But it was more. Unusual, fluid, almost whimsical shapes but surprisingly glazed in subtle, muted hues – creams, beiges, grays and deep lilacs. It was eye-catching, extraordinary. They were not pieces you would take home and use to put flowers in or serve up mashed potatoes. It was meant to be exhibited, each piece being one that would bring elegance to a room.
As he watched her interact he saw Dusty clearly had a close, trusting relationship with the clerks and the manager. She chose the art and supplied her own; they displayed it and sold it. She told Mike that she had twice monthly meetings with the manager then let the woman do her own thing. Dusty made pottery and deposited checks. The gallery manager even managed Dusty’s pieces being supplied to other shops and galleries throughout the west.
Dusty had an accountant, a man who tended her land, a housekeeper and a manager. Dusty went to classes with her friend Jerra. She made her pottery. She toured Texas, meeting other artists and attending events that displayed and sold her work. She had dinner parties, went to them, ate out or went for drinks frequently with friends.
She had a good life in Texas.
Perfect.
No hassle, no headache (except LeBrec), she didn’t even clean her own damned clothes.
All good.
Mike did not have a housekeeper and looking into private schools on his own for Reesee, he never would. In fact, if his daughter didn’t qualify for a scholarship, there was no way in hell he’d be able to swing the tuition and still he couldn’t hire a housekeeper.
Even without grief, Debbie’s tricks and McGrath, Mike couldn’t provide Dusty a life without hassle and headache seeing as his was filled with teenagers and an ex who liked to play games.
He heard the deep thud of the heels of cowboy boots hit tile and his body jolted, pulling him out of his thoughts. His eyes moved to Dusty to see her rounding the bar that delineated the kitchen from the living room, her gaze on him.
He pulled in breath.
Her hair was a sleek, thick fall down her shoulders and chest. She had a little tee on that stretched tight at her tits but had some room, minimal though it was, at her midriff. It was bright purple and in grays and lighter shades of purple there was a cowgirl on it, chaps over a fringed skirt, cowboy hat, in mid-throw of a lasso. Charcoal gray suede belt with a big, silver belt buckle looped through her faded jeans. Black cowboy boots. More gray suede, this a thin strip wrapped again and again as a choker around her throat and at the front, small, round silver medallions hung. There was more silver at her ears and wrists. And even though they were going to a place that titled itself a “Saloon and Hoedown” her makeup was deeper and said, plainly, “fuck me”.
Taking in her appearance and affected by it in a multitude of ways, he didn’t move as she made it to him. He noted instantly her usual musky, floral, outdoorsy scent was deeper than normal and he noted this as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed close.
Her back was arched, her head tipped way back to keep her eyes on him and softly, she said, “They’ll be cool. If they aren’t, we’ll go home early.”
She was talking about the kids spending an extra night with Audrey. He liked it that she cared and was thinking about his kids.
But she was wrong about the train of his thoughts.
“I know they’ll be cool. They’re good kids. Though, not sure if Reesee will make it an entire weekend without breathing Fin’s air.”
Dusty grinned at him and pressed closer.
Fuck, f**k, she was beautiful.
Even more here, at home, in her element.
He wasn’t holding her and he didn’t but he did lift a hand to cup her jaw.
When he did, his eyes moving over her face, he murmured, “Think, right now and maybe forever, you’re the most beautiful woman I ever have and ever will see.”
He felt her body press deeper into him as her eyelids got soft and her lips parted.
Then she whispered, “Sometimes Jonathan Michael Haines, you kill me.”
Last night, when Dusty (and Fin) were over, No had shared Mike’s full name and since then Dusty had used it fifty times.
He slid his hand down to her neck and asked, “What’s with the full name business, Angel?”
She grinned again and her arms gave him a squeeze.
“I didn’t know that about you,” she answered. “I found it a shock,” she widened her eyes and got up on her toes, “an actual shock that I didn’t know something about you.” She rolled down on her feet, kept grinning and talking. “This is so easy. It feels like we’ve been together forever sometimes. So I say it because I like to remind myself we’re new and I have a wealth of things to uncover about Jonathan,” she shook his middle, “Michael,” she shook it again, “Haines.” She ended on a squeeze and a smile.
She was so f**king adorable, not able to stop himself but also not trying, Mike slid his hand into her hair, bent his neck and dropped his mouth to hers. Her lips opened, his tongue slid inside and he kissed her with both her arms around him, his one hand wrapped around a beer resting on her kitchen counter, his other hand buried in her hair. With her pressing herself tight against him, he took his time, he built it for the both of them and he only broke it when she pressed deep and he heard that sexy little noise slide up the back of her throat.
