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She pulled his work stool out of the corner and up beside him. “Will I be out of the way here?”
“Sure.” He liked having her close. He’d never intended to get so involved with Laurel. What did he have to offer her? Nothing. He made a harder than necessary lick on the end of the chisel. This time it flew to the floor.
Laurel reached for it. He caught a glimpse of bare breast before she secured the quilt again.
He set the mallet down. “I’m hungry. How about pot roast for breakfast?” He’d gotten up in the middle of the night and turned the oven off. “But it might be a little tough.”
“If you don’t mind I won’t either. First, I’m going to get dressed. It’s Christmas Eve and I need to get going. I can’t put off my cousin forever. I don’t want her to worry.”
The idea of Laurel leaving saddened Brandon. What could an artist who wasn’t sure he had a future offer her?
He heard Laurel head to the bathroom. A few minutes later the water to the shower started. He grinned at the yip that burst through the air. Laurel must have stepped outside.
Ten minutes later, she dressed in front of the fire. He looked over his shoulder, watching as the firelight reflected off her back. That was a piece he wanted to do. He grabbed his sketchbook and quickly drew what he saw.
“Can I borrow another pair of socks? I hate wearing dirty ones. I’ll mail them all back to you.” She gave him a smile he couldn’t refuse.
“Sure. You know where they are. Just keep them.” She’d have something to remember him by.
He had returned to his piece of wood by the time she called, “Breakfast slash dinner is on the table.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be there in just a minute. I can’t stop right here.”
She laughed. “The artist at work.”
The next time his thoughts strayed from his work was when Laurel dropped her bag near the door. He looked up. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I haven’t been much of a gentleman this morning.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re creating again.”
He placed his chisel and mallet on the table. “I owe it to you.”
“No, you don’t. You would’ve gotten around to it. Your kind of talent begs to come out. I’ll say bye now.”
“Don’t you move. I’m going to walk you into town.” He pulled a fresh flannel shirt over his undershirt, buttoned, and tucked it in. He tugged on his boots. Minutes later they faced the cold morning.
He held her hand as they made their way down the path. The trip into town passed quickly. Too soon they stood next to her car.
Laurel turned to face him. “Brandon, I want you to consider trying a show. See how it goes. Even a small one before doing something larger. See how your art is received. I’d still like to represent you, be your agent.”
“If it’s not received well, I’m the one risking rejection.” He’d had enough of that for a lifetime. “They’ll say the man with two fingers doesn’t have what it takes anymore.”
“But you were working this morning. I was hoping you’d changed your mind. All you need is some confidence.”
He put some space between them. “Did you sleep with me just to get me to work again?”
“I’d never do that.”
His stomach turned sick. She’d taken pity on the man with half a hand. “That’s how it sounds to me.”
“You give me too much credit.” Her eyes had turned pleading.
“You can be very persuasive. Was the decorating, the attention, and going to bed with me all about getting what you want?”
“No, uh…some of it. At first. Then I got to know you.”
“You’re no better than that partner of yours who left you high and dry.” Anger churned in his belly. “I don’t appreciate being manipulated. So long, Laurel.”
ChapterTen
