any way she could forgive him for not telling her his purpose from the start. He had been as intimate as a man could be without revealing the truth about himself. That was what hurt most of all. It was the first time she had trusted totally, let go of her caution and doubts, and then found that the whole time she hadn’t known the truth about him or why he had wanted to meet her.
Take the money and give it to charity. Do some good with it. You don’t have to keep it or live on it.
Edgar had said the same in his own way. But she couldn’t see that she was hurting herself— She had no real need of the money.
You’re being stubborn and unreasonable about this—spiteful and hurtful for no reason.
Stubborn and unreasonable, spiteful and hurtful. Both Garrett and Edgar had accused her of being selfish.
She washed her hands and put away her brushes, going to her room to look at the letter from the Delaneys’ attorney.
You are not getting back at your father.
Was she wrong and both men were right? Would she have huge regrets?
She rubbed her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. Everything had seemed so clear to her when it had first come up, but now she was beginning to wonder.
“Garrett,” she whispered, angry with him and missing him all at the same time. Garrett had caused her to rethink her feelings about relationships. Was she about to rethink the whole Delaney situation because of him? She rubbed her hands together in anguish.
Had Garrett gone back to Dallas now, to his life there?
Had there been a woman in his life already? Had his declaration that there wasn’t a woman been the truth—or another deceitful statement?
She spent a miserable, restless evening with little sleep that night. The next day, she got out the information from the Delaneys and their attorneys, and the copy of her father’s will, which told of the bequest and the conditions.
She sat at her desk and read, studying the legal documents in her quiet house, weighing possibilities that she thought she never would have considered.
Edgar always had her best interests at heart. He had backed Garrett, hoping Garrett could persuade her to take her legacy.
What she longed to do was see Garrett and talk to him. Facing the truth, she was shocked by her wish. When had Garrett become so important in her life? Could she forgive him? At the moment, she felt no inclination to do so. And even if she did, was he still angry with her? Garrett might not be forgiving. Her spirits sank lower. The pain of her argument with him was not only monumental, it kept growing.
She had never felt so lost in her entire life.
Friday night, for Edgar’s anniversary celebration at his gallery, Sophia dressed in a plain, long-sleeved black dress. The neckline dipped to her waist in the back and the skirt ended above her knees. Her hair was looped and piled on her head, held in place with combs. She remembered what Edgar had said about when she wore her hair knotted on her head, but she didn’t care. Tonight she felt better with her hair secured and fastened high.
Feeling numb, barely aware of what she was saying or the people present, she greeted old friends, talked briefly with people about different paintings and was pleased for Edgar that he had a good turnout.
Edgar appeared at her elbow in a gray suit with a pale blue tie that brought out the blue in his eyes. He looked his usual friendly self, as if their last conversation had never occurred.
“To anyone who doesn’t know you, you look as if you’re having a good time,” he said. “To me, you look as if you’re hurting. Sophia, you’ve made an appearance. You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m fine, Edgar. Thanks, though, for telling me I can go.”
“Have you thought over what I said to you?”
“Of course.”
“I won’t ask your conclusions. Have you seen Garrett?”
“Not at all. I haven’t talked to him or seen him this past week, which is what I told him I wanted. Whatever I do, Edgar, I do not intend to pursue a relationship with Garrett,” she said, thinking her words sounded hollow and false to her own ears.
“That decision is solely yours and I have no comments to make. I don’t usually interfere in your life.”
“No, you don’t, and I appreciate that as much as I appreciate the comments you make concerning my paintings and the art world.”
“Good. We’re getting another good turnout tonight.”
“You are. The flowers are beautiful,” she said, glancing around the room at baskets of flowers that held anniversary cards.
“Lots of people accepted my invitations and responded. We’ve sold two of your paintings and the evening is quite early.”
“That’s gratifying.”
“Are you still going to Santa Fe?”
“Probably, but I haven’t made arrangements yet.”
“Good. I think you should stay here this time of year.” He glanced around. “The crowd is growing. I’ll go greet the new arrivals.” He moved away and she walked along, greeting people she knew.
As she made her way through the gallery, she glanced toward the front door and her heart skipped. She looked into Garrett’s gray eyes and it was as if they were alone in the gallery. All noise, surroundings, people—everything faded from her awareness except him.
Without breaking eye contact, Garrett walked through the crowd toward her. In a dark suit and tie, he looked as handsome as ever and every inch the part of the wealthy, commanding executive. The closer he came, the more her heart pounded. With an effort she looked away, turning to gaze at a painting and keeping her back to him.
Her emotions seesawed from joy at the very sight of him to the familiar anger she had borne for nearly a week.
“Sophia.”
His deep voice sent electricity racing over her nerves. She turned to face him.
“Why are you here?” she asked. In spite of her simmering anger, her voice held a softer tone she couldn’t hide.
“I knew you’d be here. I received an invitation a while back from Edgar.”
“We have nothing to say,” she said stiffly and turned her back. Garrett stayed beside her.
“I have something to say. Have you thought about our conversation?”
“Of course I have. I’ve thought constantly about all of it, about what you said and what you did.”
“You
