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Finally, Luke parked his car on the side street next to the bar, and gazed across the street at Lost Angel. “Not much promising real estate around here, is there?”
“No, but what about Lost Angel itself? Would the owners object to a mural decorating the front of the church?”
Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I called them right after Dave suggested a mural, and while the building no longer serves as a church, they like the look of the weathered granite and don’t want it, ‘defaced’. That was their exact word.”
Catherine stared past Luke to the Victorian home on the corner opposite the bar. She checked his map, where it was noted simply as a house. “It looks as though someone is working on the Victorian right here. They’re often painted in fanciful colors. Do you suppose the owner might consider a mural?”
Luke was so startled by her suggestion that he opened his car door and got out to look. It was a three-story house with all the gingerbread and curlicues that made the style so distinctive. He leaned into the window to respond.
“I can see a ladder and paint cans on the porch, and someone’s been watering what’s left of the lawn, but that’s someone’s home, Catherine.”
“That’s no reason to eliminate it from consideration,” she argued. “The Germans and Austrians decorate private homes with colorful murals. Other cultures probably do too. Maybe we could start a trend here.”
“It’s not really a trend I’m trying to set.”
She hurriedly left the car. “I realize that, but would you mind terribly if I introduced myself to the owner and described the idea?”
“Yes, I would,” Luke responded crossly. “It’s probably some dear little old lady who’d agree to a mural just to have some company.”
“Then we’d all benefit, wouldn’t we? Besides, with three stories, an angel mural would soar toward the heavens.”
He stared at her a long moment and then shook his head regretfully. “You’re not going to give in on this are you?”
“You asked me to head up the mural project. What are my responsibilities if you insist upon making all the decisions? Will I have to get your approval before I select the paint?” She knew she was pushing him, but if he were really the control freak he appeared to be, she wanted no part of the mural.
Luke rested his hands on his hips. “I thought we’d work together, cooperatively. I didn’t intend to micromanage every brushstroke.”
“Good. Now it’ll only take a moment to introduce ourselves and pose the question.”
Pushed into an uncomfortably tight corner, he appeared angry enough to spit. He glanced toward Lost Angel, where the kids seated on the steps were watching their every move. He turned his back toward them.
“We have quite an audience, so I’ll have to do it, but I’m hoping some grouchy old man lives here, and he’ll shoo us off the porch without hearing what we have to say.”
Delighted to have her way, Catherine would have reached for Luke’s hand as they started up the cracked concrete walk, but with Lost Angel right across the street, she squelched the impulse. “We could invite him to volunteer. Maybe he’d find Mabel’s cooking every bit as delectable as you do.”
He paused at the bottom on the front steps. “This is a crazy idea. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?”
“Quit stalling.” She nodded to encourage him, and they climbed the steps.
Luke knocked at the door. Expecting an elderly woman, if not a cantankerous old man, he took a cautious step backward, but the door was opened by a young man clad only in low-slung jeans.
He had dark curly hair, green eyes, and an engaging grin, but those assets weren’t his most remarkable attributes. His upper body was covered from his collarbones out to his wrists and down to his waist with colorful tattoos. The exotic array of dragons, Samurai warriors, cranes, chrysanthemums and kimono-clad ladies spread over his shoulders and appeared to plunge down his back. While the whole staggering display was interrupted at his waistband, it certainly didn’t appear to end there.
Astonished, Luke nevertheless recovered sufficiently to introduce himself and Catherine. He pointed across the street. “We’re from Lost Angel. We’re considering a mural project and thought this house might make a suitable location. Are you the owner?”
“Sure am. Name’s Toby McClure. You want the kids to paint a mural here? That’s cool. You’ve got some real tasty chicks over there. Not that I’m into underage babes. I like real women, myself.” He swept Catherine with an appreciative glance and extended his hand.
He was a handsome man despite his zest for decorative art, but Catherine wasn’t certain she wanted to touch him. Good manners indicated she ought to at least shake his hand, and surprisingly, his skin was warm and his touch quite pleasant.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. McClure,” she said. “You have such stunning tattoos. Are you a tattoo artist?”
Toby gave her hand an affectionate squeeze before releasing it. “No, I’m a collector,” he replied with a conspiratorial wink. He turned back toward Luke. “When do you want to start?”
“We’re still in the planning stage,” Luke explained. “But it was good to meet you, and I’ll let you know what we decide.”
“Stop by any time. I’m a sculptor and work out of the garage in back. A fancy mural might be a real good backdrop for my work.”
“It just might,” Luke agreed, but he hurried Catherine out to his car and quickly returned to the Lost Angel parking lot.
