neighborhoods and the housing divisions. He had even driven around the college. Midmorning he’d found a leather goods shop and bought himself a pair of black dress boots. He’d also stopped at a men’s store and purchased a sports jacket. That way, if he wanted to give Cassie the impression he was meeting a client, he’d fit the part better.
The part. He didn’t know why it bothered him to play a part with Cassie, but it did.
The front door to the B&B was open and the screen door was allowing the spring air to flow in. As soon as Nash stepped inside, he heard a child’s laughter. He liked kids. His old friend in Oklahoma—the one who had given Cassie a good reference—had three. He’d been to barbecues and Super Bowl parties with some of the guys at work. They had kids, too. Sometimes Nash liked the children even better than the adults.
Following the sound of childish chatter, as well as Cassie’s voice, he crossed the dining area and passed the kitchen to the screened-in porch. There was an easel set up there with a chair in front of it. Cassie was sitting on a second chair beside a little girl who looked to be about eight. The girl’s blond braids swung every time she turned toward Cassie.
Apparently hearing him approach the sliding glass door that was open today, Cassie spotted him peering through the screen. “Hi!” she said. “You’re back.”
Opening the screen and stepping inside the porch, he answered her. “Just for a little while. Then I’ll be going out again. You’re giving an art lesson?”
She motioned him to come farther inside.
He didn’t move. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not,” she assured him.
As he crossed to the area where Cassie and the child sat, the little girl turned around to face him. He noticed a child-sized cane propped against the wall. He raised questioning eyes to Cassie.
“Lydia, I want you to meet Nash. He’s one of my guests here. Nash, this is Lydia.”
“Hi, Lydia,” he said easily. “Do you mind if I look at your painting?”
She gave a shy shrug and a smile, so he took that as a yes. Leaning down, he studied the picture of a Ferris wheel that was painted in bright colors and drawn with enough detail that he could see each seat. She’d painted people in the seats and she’d done a fairly good job of it, mostly drawing profiles. He wasn’t sure he could do half as well.
“You have a terrific painting there. Did you ride on a Ferris wheel?” he asked.
This time Lydia grinned. “Mommy and Daddy took me to a carnival. I rode a pony, too.”
“We’re going to save horses for the next art lesson,” Cassie confided. To Nash, she asked, “Have you eaten lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“There are leftovers in the fridge.”
“I’m going out again,” he explained, ad-libbing.
“If you need a snack later, there’s plenty. I didn’t know if the Warners might be coming back for lunch and I wanted to provide something if they did.” She frowned. “I had another cancellation.”
With that declaration, Cassie looked and sounded worried.
Lydia had begun painting again, as if their conversation was of no consequence to her. He asked the little girl, “Do you mind if I sit and watch for a while?”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I guess you wonder why I’m not in school today.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“My teachers had a meeting. Mommy had to work this morning. Cassie said she could give me a lesson, so Mommy’s going to pick me up in a little while.”
“You’re lucky you could do this today.”
“Yes, I am,” Lydia agreed, bobbing her head and making her braids fly again.
Cassie suggested, “If you paint a fence around the Ferris wheel, it will ground it. Anybody looking at the painting will be able to tell the difference from the ground to the tippy top of the Ferris wheel.”
Lydia nodded and went at it. “I’m going to mix two colors of brown for the fence.”
Cassie squirted sienna and burnt umber on the palette. “See if you like those.”
Fascinated by the process—and Cassie—Nash watched for the next half hour. Cassie was so patient with Lydia. Finally, he returned to the subject that seemed to have Cassie worried. He asked in a low voice, “Will it be a problem for you with another guest canceling?”
“I think I can make up the difference this month with the Paint and Sip party...if it’s well attended. I have one coming up at the Mendoza Winery.”
The winery was one of the Austin landmarks he’d noted. “I saw it today when I was driving around Austin.”
He had driven around the Mendoza vineyard with its large acreage of grapevines. He’d discovered the winery had two offices—a small one at the edge of the vineyard and a larger corporate headquarters with its distribution center in Austin proper. Nash remembered he’d read somewhere that the winery had originally been named Hummingbird Ridge.
In spite of himself, he could imagine going to the tasting room with Cassie and sipping wine with her. He shook his head to erase the pictures from his mind. An attraction to her shouldn’t even be an issue right now. He wasn’t sitting that close to her because Lydia was between them. But he thought he could catch the scent of a flowery perfume. And Cassie’s hair was so bright and shiny...and soft-looking. When she smiled, she had dimples. And there were freckles running across both of her cheeks. She was a tempting woman in so many ways. So many ways he was going to ignore.
Finally, Lydia was finished with her painting.
“Is she using acrylics?” Nash asked.
“They’re so much easier for the children. As they become true artists, though, they can’t mix them as well as they could oil paints. Some want to try watercolors, but using watercolors is its own art form—from the way you use the water to the texture of the paper.”
“I can understand,” Nash said, because he could. “More elements to deal with from the water spreading, the way the paper absorbs it, to the thinness of the brush.”
The doorbell ringing suddenly interrupted their conversation. Lydia hopped up from her chair with her painting in hand. “I bet that’s Mommy.”
“I bet it is, too. Be careful with your painting.”
Cassie opened the sliding screen door for Lydia. The little girl grabbed her cane and, as fast as she could, went to greet her mom.
“Why is she using a cane?” Nash whispered close to Cassie’s ear. It was her shampoo he was smelling. And as his jaw brushed the side of her hair, he realized it was as soft as he imagined. Thoughts about kissing her were getting harder and harder to push away.
“She was in an accident riding her bike. She wasn’t
