eggs are going to burn,” she whispered.
“Can’t let that happen,” he said, and stepped away from her to tend to his part of the breakfast while she picked up a paper towel to wipe waffle batter from the floor.
Putting the breakfast on the table took little effort, but Verity busied herself with it as Leo helped Heather get settled on her booster seat.
Heather pointed to her waffle and looked up at Verity. “Please make a face.”
The first day Verity had made the waffles for Heather, she wasn’t sure if she was going to eat them. But after Verity had used syrup and a dab of butter to make a face on the waffle, Heather had eaten the whole thing. Now Verity fashioned a face again as Heather giggled and Leo looked on, making her feel self-conscious.
Suddenly there was a beep-beep-beep, and Verity realized it came from Leo’s pocket.
After he answered his cell phone, he said, “Jolene. Hi. What’s up? No, I’m not at the boatyard yet. I’m still at home having breakfast.”
His sister must have made some comment about that because he explained, “I just needed some time with Heather. She hurt herself yesterday, and I realized I haven’t been around very much.” Then he explained what had happened.
After a long pause he responded, “I’m going to the boatyard as soon as I’m finished. I’m sure Heather would love it if you would pick her up and take her to the arts festival at the lake.”
Today artists would have their work displayed all around Avon Lake. There would be vendors with various foods, activities for kids and wandering musicians. Verity had thought about taking Heather there herself.
Now she said to Leo, “I’d be glad to take Heather and meet Jolene there. I want to go, too.”
After Leo relayed what Verity had said to his sister, he asked Verity, “Around ten at the Shakespeare statue?”
Verity nodded. “Sounds good.”
Leo closed the phone, reattached it to his belt and asked, “Are you sure you don’t mind driving Heather there?”
“I don’t mind. Really. I was planning to go after you got home.”
“Will you buy a painting?” he asked jokingly.
“Actually, I might, if I see something I like. If that’s okay with you. I mean, hanging it.”
“I’m not a landlord who’s going to keep your security deposit if you put too many holes in the walls.” His blue eyes were amused.
“I’ve just never been in this kind of position before,” she said truthfully. “I don’t know the rules.”
“No rules, Verity. As long as you put Heather first, that’s all that matters.”
He was absolutely right on that score. She would put Heather first, of course, and try to block Leo Montgomery from her dreams.
Leo parked in a lot near the lake. As he’d sat in his office, studying each page of the new sales brochure, he hadn’t been able to keep his mind on it. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind off Verity. So he’d put in two hours, then driven to the festival.
His life had become a treadmill of work, putting Heather to bed now and then, sleep and more work. Even before Carolyn died, he’d started putting in longer hours. Had it been because of her remoteness? Had it been because he’d sensed she was keeping something from him?
She’d been keeping something from him all right…for three months—her brain tumor.
No point in thinking about that now. No point in thinking about how her lack of trust had seemed like a betrayal, how her independence might have cost her her life sooner than was necessary.
The day couldn’t have been any sunnier, sometimes unusual in this part of Texas where cloudy skies and rain could prevail in December. The lake was blue and the scents on the breeze from food vendors were enticing.
His boots cut a path through the grass as he observed everything going on. Avon Lake was a Texas town through and through. Yet the college, and the influence of the bard who had written sonnets and plays, brought a uniqueness to the community that wasn’t easy to describe. The statue of Shakespeare himself on the shores of the lake was a roost for birds, true. But it was also a reminder there was an aspect of life that had to do with poetry, artistry and creation that humans couldn’t do without.
When had he even thought about that statue?
Around the lake, artists displayed their paintings on easels, pegboards and some on more elaborate contraptions. Some of the displays were adorned with Christmas wreaths or signs of the season. The past two years Jolene had bought Heather Christmas presents when she’d gone shopping for her boys. This year, Leo decided, he would find presents for Heather himself.
He’d gone a quarter of the way around the lake when he spotted Verity. She wore an oversize green sweater over her jeans. Although the outfit seemed to be an attempt to hide womanly attributes, he found it only enhanced them. The cable knit lay softly over her breasts, the breeze blowing it against her body, delineating her slim waist. With her hair tied back in a ponytail, her face tilted curiously to one side as she studied a painting, the sun glinting on her glasses, Leo found himself eager to talk to her again. There was something about Verity Sumpter that was strangely appealing.
Coming up to stand beside her, he nonchalantly slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “Interpretable?” he asked wryly, as he gazed with her at the swirls of color and motion.
After a quick glance at him, she laughed. “I’m not sure. I do think it would clash with everything else you’d put with it, though.”
Leo chuckled, too, then looked at her. When their gazes met, Leo felt a tightening in his chest, and he didn’t understand it at all. “Are you an art connoisseur?”
“Hardly. I like Victorian cottages, landscapes and paintings that take me away to someplace I want to be.”
“Have you found any here today?” Blood was rushing through him faster now, and he chalked that up to his almost jog around the lake.
“A few. Have you seen Heather?”
“Not yet.”
“The last time I spotted her she was at a stand making huge bubbles in the air. The wand was almost as big as she was.”
“Did you eat lunch yet? We can grab a hot dog while we’re looking.” Then he stopped. “Unless you want to do this on your own.”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. “I’ve made the rounds and I’m trying to decide between two paintings. A hot dog might help me make the decision.”
For whatever reason, Verity Sumpter made him smile. She did more than that, he realized, as his gaze settled on her lips and he felt a pang of desire so strong he didn’t think he’d ever felt anything quite like it before.
“Come on,” he said evenly, nodding toward a concession truck that sold cold drinks, soft pretzels and hot dogs.
Strumming
