her excitement over displaying her first picture in public. It wasn’t a complete lie. She was eager to paint the island across the waterway and maybe even visit it to explore. But not today. Or tomorrow. Or even Sunday.
She worried during the entire drive south about displaying her work in such a public setting. It would be the first momentous occasion of her life that her family hadn’t been a part of, and if it blew up in her face, she’d have no one but herself to blame.
Her anxiety crested when the restaurant came into view. With any luck Logan would be at an office somewhere and not lurking at the Widow. The man had to work sometime, didn’t he? Heart in her throat, she turned into the small parking lot and parked beside Miri’s truck. After scanning the area, she extricated the canvas and headed for the building. So far, so good. No Logan.
As promised, Miri had left the side door unlocked for her. The dining room was empty, but Jessie heard the hum of conversation and the clank of pots in the kitchen. The wall behind the register was empty save a brass hanger protruding from the whitewashed bead board. She hefted the frame and positioned it over the hook. Then she stepped back to study the largest painting she’d done to date. The splash of colors looked good. Pride and excitement bubbled inside her. She ached to snap a picture, send it to her family and share the moment.
The canvas tilted slightly to the left. She reached to adjust it. A long arm stretched past her, and a big hand covered hers. Her heart lurched with panic. She ducked away and spun around, slamming her left elbow against the hostess stand. Pain shot to her fingertips. But it was only Logan, not some nameless assailant sneaking up on her. Darn her brother and his daily dire tales.
“You nearly scared me to death. Don’t you have a job you should be at?” How had he gotten so close without her hearing him? She cursed the sudden dryness of her mouth and wiggled her tingling digits. Hitting your funny bone was not at all funny.
One dark eyebrow dipped. “I set my own hours. Why are you so jumpy, Jessie?”
“I don’t like people sneaking up on me.” He was too close. The space behind the stand wasn’t built for two—one of whom was a broad-shouldered man whose subtle citrus and spice cologne filled her nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. She needed to escape, but he blocked her path.
“I didn’t sneak. I walked from over there.” He pointed to a two-top tucked in a shadowy corner by the bar—not his usual spot at the bar. An open folder, an empty plate and a glass confirmed his statement. “Are you always this nervous?”
Only since winning that stupid lottery. “I’m anxious about displaying my work.” She stifled a wince at yet another half truth. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to move my car from the parking lot.”
She wanted to leave before she had to tell more lies.
“It’s fine beside Miri’s.”
A tremor slithered through her. She was supposed to be aware of her surroundings. Had he watched her arrive and she hadn’t even noticed?
He extracted a pen and a small manila card from his shirt pocket. “What did you name this one?”
She hadn’t. “How about Morning Visitors?”
He wrote on the card, then asked, “Jessie what?”
“Just Jessie.” She’d signed the paintings with her Key West moniker. No last name. No initials. Not that she believed anyone would recognize her style or trace her through it, since she hadn’t exhibited anything since her senior year of college. But she couldn’t take that chance.
He wrote something else then stepped toward the painting, startling her into jumping back. He taped the card to the wall, and when she saw the figure he’d written below her name, her mouth fell open. “Y-you can’t ask that much for an unknown’s work.”
“You’ll get this easily. You could get more if the buyers could get a picture with you in front of it.”
“No! I, um... I don’t paint for the money.”
“That’s a naive outlook. Or that of a woman with other means of support. Do you have a deep-pocketed sugar daddy?”
“That’s rude of you to suggest, and it’s really none of your business.”
“It is if you’re doing something illegal to support yourself that could jeopardize my aunt.”
She stiffened at the implication, but she couldn’t explain. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“You expect me to take your word for it when you won’t provide even basic employee information? I’m not as gullible as Miri. You’re hiding something. Do you have a record?”
“I’ve told you I don’t. Why can’t you believe I just want to be left alone to paint?”
“Because that’s bullshi—”
The kitchen door whooshed open. Miri joined them, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, Jessie. That’s wonderful.”
Jessie’s face warmed despite the cold chill in her core caused by Logan’s distrust. “Thank you.”
“I can’t wait to brag to everyone about what a talented artist you are.”
Alarm rocketed through her. “No! You can’t.” Jessie caught Logan’s narrowed gaze on her and fumbled to recover. “I’d...um...die of embarrassment. My art is...personal. Please don’t say anything.”
Miri nodded with understanding in her eyes, hitting Jessie with another twinge of guilt. The hole she was digging with her dishonesty kept getting deeper. What would the people at church say about her behavior? But she wasn’t hurting anybody. Right?
“It’ll be our secret, hon.”
“You should go to her house and see the rest of her work,” Logan insisted. “If cleaning your old ones is going to take a while, you’ll want to send them in multiples. That’ll allow Jessie to display more pieces.”
Another frisson of anxiety swept Jessie. Logan obviously didn’t like her. Why was he trying to help her? Or was he only trying to get back into her house to find something incriminating?
“I don’t go to anyone’s house without an invitation,” Miri snapped.
Jessie liked Miri and trusted her as much as she could trust anyone she’d met only four days ago, but inviting people into her hideaway wouldn’t be a good idea. Plus, Logan, Miri’s overprotective guardian, would probably accompany her.
“There’s no need for you to trek out to my place. I’ll bring in as many paintings as you want to see. And I brought the name of a restoration specialist,” she added, trying to change the subject.
She’d had to look up the company online at the library and go by their credentials and reviews from past patrons, because she didn’t dare speak to anyone in the art community here. She handed Miri a paper containing the name and address without looking at Logan, even though she could feel his stare.
Miri tucked it in her pocket then hooked her arm through Logan’s and pulled him toward his table. “Get your stuff and go to work, Logan, so we can do the same here. Jessie and I will discuss what
