would have liked that. He would have been proud of his first grandchild.” Colin didn’t say anything for a minute and then added, “I miss my good friend. He was there for me more times than not. When I first saw your work, I was taken back by just how much you and he painted alike.”
She smiled, thinking how wonderful it was that on this very important night, although her father wasn’t here, a man she knew to be his closest friend was. “Yes, we discovered that before he died.”
“Randall was a gifted artist and so are you.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s a beautiful landscape over there that I’m thinking about buying. I wonder if you can tell me what inspired you.”
She knew exactly which one he was talking about. It was the first painting she’d done after her father died and a lot of her pent-up emotions had been poured into it. “Certainly.”
And then she and Colin moved toward the huge painting on the wall.
* * *
“May I help you, sir?”
Laramie wasn’t surprised someone had approached him the minute he walked into the gallery. All he had to do was look around the room to see he seemed obviously out of place. He really wouldn’t have to stay a minute longer if the man could answer one question. “The artist on the sign. Bristol. What’s her last name?”
When the older man, who he suspected to be someone in charge, gave him a strange look, Laramie added, “I once knew someone by that name.”
The man nodded his understanding. “Oh, I see. Her last name is—”
“I will handle this gentleman, Jazlyn,” an authoritative voice said behind him.
Laramie didn’t turn around. He figured whoever had spoken would make himself known soon enough. Besides, he hadn’t liked the emphasis the man had placed on the word gentleman. As if he thought Laramie was anything but a gentleman. And what had he meant by “handle him”?
Laramie inwardly smiled. He would like to see that happen.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Culpepper.” And then the older man walked off.
The guy who’d spoken came around to stand in front of Laramie and quickly sized him up. Laramie didn’t have a problem with that since he was sizing up the other man, as well. And Laramie didn’t like the arrogant glint in the man’s eyes, like he assumed he was better than Laramie just because he was dressed in a designer suit.
A quick assessment told Laramie what he needed to know. The man was in his upper thirties, probably a Harvard or Yale graduate, a Wall Street type, most likely CEO of his own corporation.
“May I help you, Mr...?”
Evidently no one had explained to this man the proper way to introduce oneself. It wasn’t by asking a question. Therefore, Laramie didn’t intend to give his name unless this ass gave his. Besides, his name was irrelevant to what he wanted to know. “Like I was saying to the older man a moment ago, before we were interrupted—I once knew a woman name Bristol and was wondering, what is the artist’s last name?”
The man’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Who was this man and what business was it of his that Laramie was inquiring about the artist?
“I’m sure it’s not the same person.”
How the hell would you know? he wanted to say. Instead he said, “Let me decide that.”
He could tell his response hadn’t gone over well. The man’s eyes darkened in irritation. Evidently, he wasn’t used to being put in his place. “I won’t let you decide anything. In fact, I’m almost certain Bristol doesn’t know you.”
Laramie was beginning to read the signs. This man was territorial. Evidently, there was something going on between him and the artist. “You sound sure of that, Mr...”
The man smiled. “Culpepper. Steven Culpepper. And the reason I sound certain is because I know Bristol. We are well acquainted.”
“Obviously. So what’s her last name?” He tilted his Stetson back to stare down at the man, wondering why Steven was giving him a hard time.
“What’s the name of the woman you’re looking for? Just in case you haven’t noticed, you’re drawing attention.”
And he was supposed to give a damn? Laramie drew in a deep breath, tired of playing this cat-and-mouse game. The man was probably right, it wasn’t the same Bristol, but there was something about this man’s attitude that rubbed Laramie the wrong way. “Lockett. Her name is Bristol Lockett.”
The man smiled. “Lockett? Then I was right all along. Her last name isn’t Lockett.”
“So what is it?”
Evidently tired of this conversation as well, the man said, “It’s Cooper. Bristol Cooper.”
Laramie frowned. He and the woman had the same last name? What a coincidence. But then there were a lot of Coopers out there. “You’re right. It’s not the same woman. Sorry I took up so much of your time.”
“No problem. Let me see you out.”
“No need. I know my way.” Laramie had made it to the door when he heard it. That laugh.
It was a distinctive sound that could only come from one woman. He turned and glanced around the room. He didn’t see her. Had he only imagined hearing her laughter?
“Is anything wrong?”
That Culpepper guy was back. Laramie looked at him. “Not sure. However, I’d like to meet the artist, Bristol Cooper, after all.”
“That’s not possible.”
Laramie was about to tell the man that with him anything was possible, when he heard the sound again. His gaze sharpened as he looked around the room. The sound had come from another part of the gallery. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it twice.
He began moving toward the sound, not caring that people were staring at him.
“Wait a minute! You need to leave now.”
When Laramie kept walking, he heard the Culpepper guy call out, “Mr. Jazlyn, I suggest you call for security.”
They could call for security all they wanted. He wasn’t leaving until he made sure...
He entered another area of the gallery and immediately felt it...that undisguised pang of longing and desire he hadn’t felt in three years. He swallowed hard against the deep yearning in his throat as his gaze swept around the room.
And then he saw her.
Her back was to him. She stood beside an older gentleman as the two of them studied a landscape. Laramie knew without even seeing her face that the woman was his Bristol.
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