AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What?” Had the man lost his mind?
“It was a sign I shouldn’t sign with you.” He made it sound so matter-of-fact.
“Now Mr. McGivern. I’m sure it didn’t mean anything. Why don’t I bring the papers to you. We can sign them at your place.”
“I’m leaving for Christmas out of the country. My taxi to the airport is waiting.”
Everything she dreamed of was slipping through her hands. All because of some superstitious temperamental artist. “Please Mr. McGivern, I wish you’d reconsider.”
“That won’t happen. Merry Christmas.” With that, he hung up.
Mr. Antwan stood and gave Joe a direct look. “Joe, I’ll let you handle this.” He went out the door without even glancing at Laurel.
“Joe, you know I had this in the bag. You even spoke to McGivern.”
“But it was ultimately you who was to bring him on. You didn’t do that.” Joe didn’t meet her look. “I’m going to have to let you go. If I don’t, I’ll be out of a job.”
She stepped toward him with her hand out. “Please don’t let me go. When McGivern returns, I’ll contact him again. I know I can sign him on as a client. I just need time.”
Joe shook his head. “I’m sorry. Did you see the look on Antwan’s face? I have to.”
Disappointment filling her, she spat, “Thanks for having my back, Joe. After all the clients I’ve helped you bring in. Promises really mean a lot to you, don’t they.”
* * *
The next day, Laurel caught the flash of red out of the corner of her eye seconds before she slammed on her brakes. She jerked to a stop. The boxes on her back seat which held most of her worldly goods slid onto the floor. Not only was she out of a job but a home as well. Her heart thumped against her chest wall. The sound of a hand slamming against the metal of the car rang in her ears. Had she hit someone?
“Hey lady, pay attention.” An arm waved back and forth. “This is a crosswalk.”
She looked at the wooly mountain of a man glaring at her through the windshield. A knit cap was pulled down low over dark wavy hair sticking out in a wild array from beneath the cap. His blue eyes held her mesmerized. They reminded her of a clear mountain pond she’d seen once on a skiing trip. There was something familiar about them, but she couldn’t imagine where she would have met this rough looking man.
Despite their beauty, the man’s eyes flashed. Fear crawled into her chest. She sank into her seat. A bush of beard with full lips surrounded by more hair made the man look uncivilized.
She winced, pulling a face. “Sorry.”
He glared, then stuffed his right hand in his pocket. “Be more careful.”
Laurel nodded, afraid to disagree. He had stepped in front of her. But she had been thinking about the fact she was homeless. She’d been living with Joe. That had been over the minute he fired her. She vowed never to work for anyone like Mr. Antwan or Joe again. What she needed to do now was find the Cherry Inn, then settle in for the night and nurse her wounds.
The man stepped to the sidewalk. She could see all of him now. His wide shoulders beneath his bright jacket hunched against the cold and wind. He wore jeans and well-worn heavy boots. He waved a hand as if giving her leave to go since he had moved safely out of the way. A hand still remained in his pocket. What was he trying to hide?
“Welcome to Cherry Creek, Tennessee,” she mumbled. Laurel shivered and drove slowly down the street of the Christmas card picture town. Despite her shambles of a life and almost hitting someone, she could appreciate the quaintness of the town. There was even a Christmas tree in the square. Wreaths hung on the light poles with large red bows attached. Every store had decorations in the windows and on the doors. What would it be like to live here?
Cherry Creek had been the halfway mark on the way to her cousin’s house for Christmas. At least she had a charming place for her stopover. She couldn’t have found a quainter place if she’d been looking for one.
The shaking of her hands had eased by the time she pulled into the parking lot of the inn. The warmth of the Victorian home settled her nerves.
“Hello. Welcome to Cherry Creek Inn and Merry Christmas,” a college-aged woman said from behind a table near a roaring fire.
“Hi. I’m Laurel Marsh. I have a reservation for tonight.”
The girl shuffled through papers.
Laurel glanced around the lobby with its staircase that went up to a landing then up again. Against the wall beside it stood a chest. Next to it sat a piece of art made from wood twisted and polished to a gleaming shine supported by an iron stand. It looked out of place among the antiques, yet it fit in as well. Laurel knew quality work. This piece screamed excellence. She was nearly overcome with the urge to reach out and run the pad of her finger down the length of it.
She recognized this artist’s work, but she’d never seen this particular sculpture. If she had she would’ve remembered the shape of its lines and the emotions it evoked. She had seen numerous pictures of this type of work and pieces in a gallery once. It was by B. Wheeler.
Hadn’t she read something about his grandparents living in Tennessee? Could it be here? Her heart beat faster with anticipation. Could her luck be changing? If she could get B. Wheeler to come out of hiding and represent him, that would pave her way back into the art world.
