This Heart of Mine (Chicago Stars #5)(57)

He strode toward her. Beneath his khaki shorts his legs were brown and strong. He wore an old blue denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. "Do you know how long it took me to get that chair right where I wanted it?"

She backed away from him. "Maybe you have too much leisure time."

"Do you think that's funny?"

"Oh, no." She kept backing. "Not funny. Definitely not."

"Does it amuse you to spoil a whole day's work?"

"Work?"

His eyebrows shot together. "What are you doing?"

"Doing?"

"Stand still, damn it, and stop cowering!"

"I'm not cowering!"

"For God's sake, I'm not going to hurt you!" Grumbling under his breath, he stalked back to where he'd been sitting and picked up something off the ground. She took advantage of his distraction to edge closer to the path.

"I told you not to move!"

He was holding some kind of notebook, and he no longer seemed sinister, just incredibly impolite. She regarded him with all the imperiousness of Hollywood royalty. "Someone's forgotten his manners."

"Waste of energy. I come here for privacy. Is that too much to ask?"

"Not at all. I'm leaving right now."

"Over there!" He pointed an angry finger toward the creek.

"Pardon me?"

"Sit over there."

She was no longer frightened, just annoyed. "I don't think so."

"You ruined an afternoon's work. Sitting for me is the least you can do to make up for it."

He was holding a sketch pad, she realized, not a notebook. He was an artist. "Why don't I just leave instead?"

"I told you to sit!"

"Has anyone ever mentioned that you're rude?"

"I work hard at it. Sit on that boulder and face the sun."

"Thanks, but I don't do sun. Bad for the complexion."

"Just once I'd like to meet a beautiful woman who isn't vain."

"I appreciate the compliment," she said dryly, "but I passed the beautiful woman mark a good ten years and forty pounds ago."

"Don't be infantile." He whipped a pencil from his shirt pocket and began to sketch, not bothering to argue with her any longer, or even to sit down on the small camp stool she spotted a few feet away. "Tilt your chin. God, you really are beautiful."

He uttered the compliment so dispassionately that it didn't seem flattering. She resisted the urge to tell him he should have seen her in her prime. "You're right about my vanity," she said, just to needle him. "Which is why I'm not going to stand here in the sun any longer."

The pencil continued to fly over his sketch pad. "I don't like models talking when I'm working."

"I'm not your model."

Just as she was about to turn away for the last time, he jabbed his pencil in the pocket of his work shirt. "How do you expect me to concentrate when you won't stand still?"

"Pay attention: I don't care whether you concentrate or not."

His brow furrowed, and she had the feeling he was trying to make up his mind whether he could bully her into staying. Finally he flipped his sketch pad shut. "We'll meet here tomorrow morning then. Let's say seven. That way the sun won't be too hot for you."

Her irritation turned to amusement. "Why not make it six-thirty?"

His eyes narrowed. "You're patronizing me, aren't you?"

"Rude and astute. A fascinating combination."

"I'll pay you."

"You couldn't afford me."

"I seriously doubt that."

She smiled and turned onto the path.

"Do you know who I am?" he called out.

She glanced back. His expression couldn't have been more threatening. "Should I?"

"I'm Liam Jenner, damn it!"

She sucked in her breath. Liam Jenner. The J. D. Salinger of American painters. My God… What was he doing here?

He could see that she knew exactly who he was, and his scowl turned smug. "We'll compromise on seven then."

"I—" Liam Jenner! "I'll think about it."

"You do that."

What an obnoxious man! He'd done the world a favor by being so reclusive. But still…

Liam Jenner, one of the most famous painters in America, wanted her to sit for him. If only she were twenty and beautiful again.





Chapter 13


? ^ ?



Daphne put down her hammer and hopped back to admire the sign she'd nailed to her front door.

It read NO BADGERS ALLOWED (and this means vous!). She'd painted it herself just that morning.



Daphne's Lonesome Day





"Use the stepstool to check that top shelf, will you, Amy?" Kevin said from the pantry. "I'm going to move these boxes out of the way."

As soon as they'd returned from town, Kevin had enlisted Amy's help taking inventory of their food supplies. For the past ten minutes she'd been darting assessing glances between the pantry where he was working and the kitchen counter where Molly was preparing for the tea. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer.