If I Didn't Know Better (The Callaways #9)(45)

"You made it," Barton said with an approving smile.

"Kent got a table in the back."

"Good, but do you have a second first?"

"I don't want to talk about coming back to Delta. It's not the right time."

"It's not about Delta. I've been approached by Jeff Kinsey to join his new private security firm."

"Seriously?" He was surprised that Barton would consider joining a private military contractor. "You hate those guys."

"Not Kinsey. He was a good soldier. I trust him to set up his company in the right way. Times are changing, Jeremy. We need more freedom to do what we need to do, and, frankly, I'd like more cash, too. We've risked our lives a thousand times, and what do we have to show for it?"

"How about the people we saved? We didn't join the Army for the money."

"No, we enlisted to get the hell out of here and see the world. Well, we did that. And maybe that was enough for the eighteen-year-old kid I was, but it's not enough now." He paused. "I want you to talk to Kinsey with me. He has offices in LA. At least drive down and hear what he has to say."

"I'm not ready to make any career decisions."

"You're not leaning toward staying here and working with Kent, are you?" he asked with a frown.

"I just told you I'm not making any decisions right now. I had to get Ashlyn out of San Francisco, and Kent found me a rental, so I came. That's why I'm here. And I'm staying because right now it's good for Ashlyn to be in a safe environment."

"Sure, this is a great town to spend the summer but not your life. There's a reason we all left, and your reason is still here."

"My father wasn't the only reason I left town."

"He was part of that decision."

"Look, I'll consider your suggestion, but right now I just want to have a good time. Let's shoot some pool, drink some beer, and not think about tomorrow."

"Now that sounds like the old Jeremy," Barton said with an approving nod.

"For tonight anyway."





Eleven

Jeremy left Murray's a little after ten feeling pleasantly buzzed and happy he'd decided to leave his car at the house and take a cab to and from the bar. The taxi dropped him off in front of his house. He started to move toward the front door, then hesitated, seeing the light on in Mia's backyard. He'd told Mrs. Danbury he wouldn't be back for another hour, and she'd told him any time before midnight was good with her, so he had a little time to kill.

He'd just check on Mia, he told himself. See how her night with the women went. Ashlyn would already be asleep. There was no reason not to stop by Mia's house.

Well, there was a reason—he just chose not to listen to the warning voice in his head that told him he was playing with fire.

When he walked into Mia's backyard, he was surprised to see her standing in the middle of the yard. She was facing the ocean, an easel set up before her, a set of paints on a stool next to her. She stroked her brush against the canvas as the dim light from the patio and the moonlight guided her way.

God she was pretty, he thought, her floral sundress swirling around her legs, her blonde hair tumbling past her shoulders, her feet once again bare. The woman never seemed to have shoes on.

A rush of longing ran through him as the breeze blew her dress around her body, showing off her curves. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, lay her down on the grass and make love to her in the moonlight.

He couldn't do any of those things.

Could he?

She suddenly started, whirling around.

"It's okay, it's just me," he said, moving out of the shadows.

She put a hand to her heart. "Jeremy. You scared me."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm painting."

There was a look of joy and pride on her face that he didn't completely understand. "I can see that, but it's late, and it's kind of dark."

"I know. I just couldn't wait until the morning. The coloring book party inspired me. It brought back my love of creating art. When I came home, I felt restless. I needed to do something, so I decided to paint."

He moved forward, seeing the splash of blues, the shadow of trees, and a bright moon on her canvas. She'd painted the scene in front of her and it wasn't bad. He could see where she was going with it. "I like it."

"It's not very well done. I've gotten rusty. I haven't painted in years."

"Then it's a good start."

"It certainly felt good. As soon as I put the paintbrush against the canvas, I felt like something unlocked inside me. It was like I'd been a bird in a cage and suddenly someone opened the door and told me to fly. I was uncertain at first and then I decided to trust in my instincts, believe in myself."

"And you flew," he said with a smile, seeing the happy glow in her eyes.

"I love painting. I used to do this with my aunt when I came to visit in the summers. I have such wonderful memories of those days. But after the summer, I'd go home and go back to school and my parents would remind me that painting is a hobby, not a job, at least for most people. As I got older, I didn't have time to come here. It was all about college and grad school and finding that perfect job. Look how great that turned out."