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Gavin wasn’t with Sarah. He’d apparently sent her messages, but her phone was missing. And maybe it was all for the best. He wasn’t interested in anything more permanent: he’d been very clear about that. Jumping up, she headed for the bathroom.
She still had paintings to finish, a little boy who needed her, she wasn’t going to sit there and pine after a man. At some point, this heartache would have to easier to live with, surely?
CHAPTER 13
The first week on theranch flew by way too fast. By the Monday of the second week, Brooke had finished another two paintings. She’d hardly slept or eaten, but the chaos inside her had finally settled down to a dull ache.
There was nothing inside her left to give, nothing more she could put on a canvas. She’d bled out her love for Gavin, her heartache over losing him, and had turned white surfaces into reflections of her soul. She was empty.
Waving to the van that had picked up the last two paintings, she walked out onto the front porch of her new house. She had no idea what the reaction to her new works would be, but she felt good about what she’d accomplished.
Everyone on the ranch had popped in at various times over the week to watch her progress, but only her mother had been there the night before to see the end result before the paintings had been wrapped for shipping. Her mom’s eyes had been bright with tears. As an artist herself, she perfectly understood the emotion, the drive behind Brooke’s paintings.
Brooke stretched her arms. She’d finally heard from Lynda Gover, the owner of the gallery in Missoula. Lynda had been so upset about Bill’s behavior, she’d fired him immediately, she told Brooke. And as Brooke had suspected, she hadn’t been the only artist who had problems with him.
At least Bill Norton was one less problem she had to worry about, thank goodness.
She walked down the steps and followed the footpath that led to Charlie’s house. Chances were, her mom and Lindsay would also be there, and one of them would know where Connor was.
It was time to have an actual conversation with her family, for a change. Her show opened on Friday, and she was leaving for Seattle on Wednesday. It would give her time to get settled in, make up for all the sleep she’d missed, and she would have the opportunity to make sure she was happy with the exhibition.
As usual, all her family members had received an invitation to the opening night, but up to now, they’d been strangely reluctant to give her an answer whether or not they might be attending. Her mother hadn’t blinked when she’d asked if Connor could stay with her. Everyone was so busy, though, and Lindsay’s baby was due in two months; it was quite understandable that they didn’t have the time. Strange, but understandable.
Brooke pressed her hand to her tummy. For the past few days, she’d been feeling icky, like a cold was coming on. Probably due to the fact she hadn’t really had a full night’s sleep since...well, since Gavin had left her. Oh, drat the man! He kept popping into her thoughts at the most inopportune moments.
As she neared the main homestead, Charlie came out on to the porch with Ellie on her arm. The little girl laughed and stretched out her arms when she saw Brooke.
“Hi, stranger.” Charlie smiled as she waited for Brooke. “It’s so nice to see you again. I hope we can have an actual conversation now. I noticed the truck that just left—the last of your paintings?”
“Yes, thank goodness. Now it’s out of my hands.”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, people are going to love them. They’re so different to any of your previous work. Everything you’ve done is, of course, stunning, but what you did this time round, it’s justwow. Your paintings are so honest and raw and powerful. I don’t think anyone can look at them and not be moved.”
Brooke held out her hands, and with a laugh, Ellie willingly let Brooke take her from her mother. “Oh, look at you, all smiles and big eyes,” Brooke crooned. She hugged the small body and inhaled the little-girl scent. “I love babies.” Smiling, she kissed Ellie on her cheek.
“So how about it?” Charlie grinned. “You’re not too old for another one of your own, you know?”
