The Road To Echo Point. Carrie Weaver
far cry from her usual tinkling laughter.
According to Daisy, she’d been quite the belle of the ball around these parts. Every man within miles was smitten.
“Uh, Joe…he’s Sheriff Moreno’s father, isn’t he? I met the sheriff yesterday when he came by to check up on me.”
“Yes, he’s Vince’s father. And my, but Joe was a fine-looking man in his younger years. All that dark wavy hair and passionate Latin eyes. Now he’s a man who knows how to please a woman.”
Vi groaned. She’d never be able to look Sheriff Moreno in the eye again without imagining Daisy and his father together, horizontal.
“How’d Ian’s dad feel about your admirers?”
Daisy’s eyes lost their sparkle. She clasped her expressive hands in her lap and allowed the corners of her mouth to quiver, just for a second.
Her voice was husky now, the elegant widow was back. “Oh, no, dear. I didn’t move here until after Edward died. The first year at home was hard. Keeping Ian out of trouble, getting over it all. Well, a year and a day later, I decided I’d had enough of cold winters and an even colder bed. Figured Arizona was a brand-new start. For me. For Ian.”
Vi fought to stay detached, removed from the woman’s grief, old but still raw. But she couldn’t. It grabbed her and wouldn’t let go.
“Did you think you’d die if you stayed a minute longer?” she murmured.
The old woman’s eyes narrowed, searching her face. She grasped Vi’s hand and gave it a hard squeeze.
“Yes. Who did you lose, dear?”
The kindness in Daisy’s voice was almost her undoing. The loss was as sharp as the day Patrick had died in a car accident.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “My brother.”
“How long?”
“Twelve years.”
Twelve years. Could it really have been that long? Patrick with the wide, giving smile. The strength that had sheltered her, protected her from the worst of it. The back that had taken many of her beatings.
“Painting. That’s when I took up painting. Ever try it?” Daisy chirped.
“Not really. Just pastels.”
“Violet dear, you may use my studio anytime. Get those feelings out on canvas. It will set you free.”
“No, I couldn’t….”
“Nonsense. I can’t paint anymore. It’s just going to waste. Might as well share it with another flower woman.”
“I don’t have time.” She shifted in her chair. Every fiber in her being strained to say yes, to bury herself in that studio, until every canvas, every dab of paint was used.
“Whenever you’re ready, Violet dear, it’s there for you.”
Violet swallowed hard. Nobody had given her such a selfless gift in a long time, something so precious and personal. Not since Patrick.
“YOUR INTERVIEW’S tomorrow?” Ian asked, tapping his fingers on the easel.
“At ten-thirty. Time enough to drive down to the valley.”
“You really want it? This District Manager thing?” He sounded like it was a management position in Hades.
“It’s what I’ve been working for.” She avoided his eyes, busying herself cleaning the brushes. The painting session had been completely unproductive, but so stimulating she could hardly stand still. The medium was new, but the experimentation inspiring.
“This is the first time I’ve seen you do something for the pure enjoyment of it. You’re a natural artist.” He nodded toward the canvas.
Violet’s cheeks warmed with pleasure. “It’s not as good as Daisy’s, but it’s not bad.” She watched him from the corner of her eye. “You seem pretty comfortable in the studio. Painting’s probably similar in some ways to writing. Instead of manipulating paint on canvas, you manipulate words.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way before, but that’s exactly what it’s like. I’m still amazed that I can create a whole other world. Probably sounds silly to you.”
“Not at all. Art’s that way for me. I’d forgotten how relaxing it can be. That’s why I chose today to paint. I needed to relax. This promotion is too important to screw up because I’ve psyched myself out.”
He leaned against the wooden workbench, splashed with layers of color. “I wouldn’t have figured you as the type for great introspection.”
“Ah, the old adjuster stereotype. Ice water in the veins, motivated by pure greed. Sadistic delight in putting innocent customers through hell.” She grinned at him wickedly. “Almost as bad as the attorneys, or maybe those Neanderthal sports nuts.”
“No way. Sports nuts are very kind-hearted underneath it all.”
Scraping dried paint off the brush handle, she could feel him watching her. But there was no way she would meet his eyes. No way she would tell him that maybe he was right. Maybe the way he treated his mother was more important than how he looked.
Instead, she fell back on safety. “Yeah, well it takes a lot more than a stout back and soft heart to get by in this world.”
He reached out and fingered a strand of her hair, working out a blob of dried crimson paint. “Ain’t that the truth. But who says I want to just get by? Don’t you ever want more Violet? After you become District Manager, what then? More money, more promotions, more power? But what have you really accomplished?”
That one hit a raw nerve. One she hadn’t known existed until she’d picked up Daisy’s paintbrushes. Until she’d immersed herself in the joy of creating so thoroughly that space and time ceased to exist. But that wasn’t a career. Creativity didn’t pay the bills or keep her safe.
“I’ll tell you what I’ve accomplished. I’ve bought my own house, my own car. I can come and go as I please, without permission from anyone. If I want something, I can reach out and grab it.” She poked his unyielding chest with a paint-smeared index finger. “And you know what, that feels pretty darn good.”
Vi ran out of breath. It sounded just a little bit desperate, even to her.
She braced her fists on her hips. “And what about you, Mr. Obedient Son, Mr. I’ve-got-my-life-so-together? You can lecture me all you want about life and priorities, because you’re safely sidelined for the moment. At least I’m honest about what I want. I like being in charge, and that’s something I won’t give up. Ever.”
Ian grasped her shoulders, getting closer, too close. “Hey, calm down. I didn’t know… I mean, that you felt so strongly about it. I never thought of insurance that way…you know, passionately. But I guess it’s not the insurance you love, it’s the being in charge part.”
He absently rubbed her neck with his thumb.
She jerked away.
“What’s so bad about being in charge? I haven’t lied to you. What you see is what you get. Now don’t you have some corn dogs to cook up or something?”
Turning away, she willed her hands to stop shaking.
“I thought maybe I could understand why it’s so important to you.” Ian studied her face.
Violet warmed under his scrutiny.
“I guess I was wrong.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE CAR SLID SIDEWAYS on gravel, but Vi didn’t give a damn. Nothing to lose now. Eight years of working harder and smarter than everyone else. Eight years of kissing corporate butt. Hell, she’d even learned to play golf.