Margo’s fingertips splayed across her stomach. “This baby means a great deal to us. After two miscarriages we were beginning to think that a baby of our own wasn’t in the cards. There were a couple of months when my pregnancy seemed iffy. If I get through the next few weeks, the baby will have a good weight, and that’s important.”
“Do you know the baby’s sex?”
“I’ve been tempted to find out, but we decided to go the old-fashioned route, and be surprised.”
“Do you have names picked out?”
“Matthew Elliot after my dad, or Emily Anne, after both of our mothers.”
Christie nodded. Matthew Elliot. She only hoped that they could find Elliot so that he could be present when his or his wife’s namesake arrived. Oh, what he would miss if he continued to be estranged from his family.
The waitress brought their check and a couple of hard mints. Margo paid the bill and they began walking toward the car.
“Oh, look.” Margo pointed. “A class is setting up.”
A group carrying easels and wooden paint boxes was scattered around a lush garden. The focal point was a fountain framed by an arched entryway ablaze with crimson bougainvillea. Folding chairs and stools snapped open and easel legs were latched into place. Paint palettes were dabbed with assorted globs of color. The artists hunkered down, studying their surroundings, contemplating the scene they would attempt to reproduce.
As they approached, Margo said, “I know the instructor. He’s been with the Art League for years, and his seminars are popular. As you can see.” Her arm scribed a circle to include the dozen or so people positioned in front of easels and canvas. Margo waved, and the instructor returned the gesture.
Margo grasped Christie’s arm. “No time like now to meet one of our Art League members.”
“But he’s busy,” Christie protested.
“Not too busy.”
Margo linked her arm through Christie’s and they walked to where the instructor was setting up.
“Casey, I’d like you to meet Christie Hamilton. I’m trying to talk her into taking an art class, but she’s balking.”
“What’s holding you back, Christie? The time involved? Or are you afraid you’ll be a failure?”
Caught off guard by the frank question, Christie became defensive. “My job doesn’t leave any spare time for extras. And besides, I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Ah, if you set your mind to it, I’ll bet you can knock down those barriers. Surely there are classes at a recreation center or community college near you. Or private lessons. Check around.
“Here is a schedule of my classes.” He pulled a brochure from his backpack. “If you visit Margo again, drop by and I’ll give you some pointers. Now, I’d better get back to my budding Van Goghs. It was nice meeting you, Christie.”
Walking to the car, Margo told Christie that she hoped she would seriously consider Casey’s invitation. Christie felt as though she was being steamrolled, but she wouldn’t toss the idea away.
When they were on the road, Margo turned the subject back to Elliot. “You must think my father is a terrible man to run off like he did.”
“No, not at all,” Christie replied, but she did have reservations about Elliot Parker. How could he leave such a loving daughter and caring son-in-law? She could not comprehend Elliot’s turning his back on his family.
“Dad’s a good man. We had a wonderful relationship; Hal was like a son to him. Mom’s death turned his world upside down, and although we tried, we couldn’t set it right. He’s hurting, and in his pain he lashed out at the nearest and dearest to him. He’s too stubborn to consider that he might have been wrong. Poor Daddy.” Margo dabbed beneath her eyes with her fingertips.
When they returned to Hal and Margo’s house, the men were still on the patio, having a heated discussion about baseball. Hal was loyal to the home team, while Cash was a San Francisco Giants fan.
Margo laughed. “It always comes down to this, Christie: sports rivalry.”
“Hal won’t admit that San Francisco has a better team than Phoenix,” Cash groused.
Margo shook her head. “Come on, Hal, tell Cash his team is great.”
Hal’s reaction was one of pretended shock. “How can you say that?”
“Because I want to keep peace. And we know better, don’t we, hon?”
Christie smiled at the interplay.
“That settles it,” Cash said. “We’re out of here.” He shook hands with Hal and hugged Margo. “It was good seeing you two. I’ll keep you updated on what we find out about Elliot, if anything.”
Margo gave Christie a hug. “Remember what I said about not waiting for someday to come around.”
“What was that all about?” Cash asked as they got into the SUV.
“I confided that I’ve always wanted to paint. Margo encouraged me to give it a try.”
“Interesting. By the way, Hal is going to bankroll us to dinner this evening.”
“How generous.”
“Consider it payment for services rendered. Hal knows my bill won’t cover my costs.”
“Sounds like the generosity works both ways.”
At seven o’clock that evening, they drove up a steeply curving driveway leading to a popular local restaurant. Edging the driveway, ground-level lanterns sparkled like candles on a birthday cake. Inside the dining room, walls of glass revealed a breathtaking view. When they were seated, Christie scanned her surroundings. The white damask–covered table was set with formal silverware and a nosegay of pale-pink roses. A miniature hurricane lamp cast a soft glow across their faces.
Cash’s gaze was intent. Shivers cartwheeled along Christie’s spine, and she nervously fidgeted with her napkin. This dinner did not resemble the casual Fisherman’s Wharf lunch, or coffee on his patio. This was an intimate, romantic setting. She was vitally aware of Cash’s charisma, and her reaction to it. In an attempt to distract herself from concentrating on him, she turned her attention to the view outside the window. Dusk had not yet fallen, and there was an almost mystic aura to the patterns of light and shadow that dotted the desert. The sky was streaked with vermilion, and reflected the heat that feathered her. In a not-too-distant corral, a red-shirted cowboy unsaddled a black-and-white horse and hefted the gear over the top rail of a whitewashed fence.
“Christie?”
Cash’s voice was deep and soft, like a caress. She turned to answer him, but was afraid to speak, knowing that her voice would betray the emotions that were spiraling out of control. Too soon, too soon, her sensible side insisted. Enjoy the moment, take what you can, her heart intoned. Which path should she follow, she wondered. Wrapped in the warmth of Cash’s smile, the torrid magnetism of his gaze, she realized that she probably did not have a choice.
CHAPTER FIVE
“What deep thoughts are churning around inside your head?” Cash asked, while they lingered over coffee. “Must be important to keep you so quiet.”
His eyes grazed her face in an appraising manner, and a muscle twitched at the side of his mouth. “Christie? Where are you?”
He leaned forward and picked up her hand. His strong, rough hands seemed to contain electricity. She pulled away as though shocked, then felt foolish.