When Morning Comes (16 page)

Kara wanted to hang her head. Instead she opened the glass door and stepped aside for Tristan to come into the house.

“Good evening, Mrs. Simmons,” Tristan greeted.

“Kara might trust you, but I don't.”

“Mother,” Kara said, embarrassed.

“I hope to change your mind, Mrs. Simmons. Your daughter has talent and I want to help her find an audience for her paintings,” Tristan said.

“No doubt … for a price.” Her mother practically sneered.

“Good night, Mother.” Kara left the house. Tristan followed. On the porch, she paused. In the driveway was an expensive-looking black sports car.

“I didn't know what you'd wear and I didn't want you struggling to climb up into the truck,” he explained, leading her to the car and opening the door.

“I might have known you'd have another car.” Seated, she buckled the the seat belt he handed her.

“Actually, I prefer the truck,” Tristan told her before he got inside and started the motor. “It belonged to my dad. He died when I was three, but Mother kept it for me.”

Her mother had sold her father's car a week after they buried him. She said there was no sense paying insurance on a car to sit in the garage; besides, she needed the money to pay bills. She'd used the money to go to an exclusive spa. “I like your mother.”

“She likes you too.” Tristan took the ramp to the freeway. “She's excited about placing the paintings in the model home.”

“I'm grateful she wants to help, especially after my bad behavior,” she said, remembering her mother's rudeness tonight. “My mother … I'm sorry. She—”

His hand briefly rested on hers. Startled, she glanced up at him. “She's just worried about you.”

She wasn't, and they both knew it. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“Someplace quiet where we can relax and talk.” He exited the freeway and headed toward downtown. “I thought tomorrow night we'd go over the selection again.”

“Fred loves working with wood and helping me frame them,” she said, relaxing a bit as he turned into the West End, a popular tourist attraction that had a lot of casual restaurants.

“I still can't believe you frame them yourself,” he said as he slowed down to pull behind another car.

“The pricing of odd-size or large canvases is outrageous,” she said. “Besides, I like finishing the wood, selecting the matting.”

“People are going to be lining up to buy your work once they know it's all handcrafted.” He grinned at her. “You're going to be a sensation.”

Kara grinned back. “I'm going to hold you to that.”

“We're here,” he said.

Kara looked around, saw the palm tree neon sign for the Palm, an upscale restaurant, and shrank back against the seat. “We're eating here?”

“Yeah. They have great food and we're early enough to miss the evening crowd.”

A smiling young man in white slacks and shirt opened her door. “Welcome to the Palm.”

Tristan stared at her when she made no move to get out of the car. “What's the matter?”

How could she tell him she wasn't dressed right? The Palm was a five-star restaurant. She'd passed it several times but, because it was so expensive, had never eaten there.

“Would you rather go someplace else?” Tristan said.

Kara saw two couples, the women in pretty summer dresses, go up the steps leading inside. Once again she wished she had listened to Sabrina. Kara wanted to feel confident, beautiful, and she felt neither.

Tristan pulled out his billfold and extracted two bills. “Sorry, fellows.”

“No. This is fine.” Reminding herself that this was a business meeting, she got out of the car. Tristan rounded the car and curved his arm around her waist. She didn't think of protesting. She needed the boost his nearness gave her.

“They have great seafood and steaks,” he said as they entered.

“Welcome to the Palm,” a woman greeted at the podium. “Two for dinner?”

“Yes, thank you,” Tristan said. “A quiet table.”

“Certainly, sir.” The woman led them to a high-backed booth, then moved aside.

Kara sat down in the leather booth, careful not to pull the white tablecloth from the table as she slid in. She expected Tristan to sit on the other side. He sat beside her. She had no choice but to slide over. The hostess handed them menus.

“What would you like to drink, or would you prefer to wait for the wine steward?”

“White wine,” Kara said.

“Hennessy.”

“They'll be right out. Enjoy your dinner.”

Tristan opened his menu. “Anything look good to you?”

You,
popped into Kara's head before she could control the thought. She hid behind the menu, but she couldn't ignore him; the heat from his body burned though her clothes.

“I'm having salmon. How about you?”

She lowered the menu and found his face inches from hers. She didn't want to be attracted to Tristan. Somehow she knew he could hurt her worse than any man before him.

His fingertips brushed across her chin. “Believe in yourself. Believe in me.”

“Hello, Tristan.”

Tristan tensed beside her. Kara looked up to see a beautiful woman in a gorgeous red silk suit. Short stylish black hair framed her face. An onyx enhancer surrounded by diamonds hung from her neck. Matching earrings graced her ears. She exuded confidence and wealth.

“Hello, Gizzelle.”

“Aren't you going to introduce us?” she asked, her voice smooth and cultured.

“Kara Simmons. Gizzelle Adams,” Tristan said tightly, obviously not wanting to make the introduction.

Kara nodded. Gizzelle did the same, but didn't move. Kara sensed the woman and Tristan had once been more than friends. Had she been one of the things he became bored with?

“How is your mother?” Gizzelle asked.

“Fine,” Tristan clipped out.

“Please give her my love,” Gizzelle said, staring at Tristan with greedy eyes.

“Sure.”

Gizzelle's gaze finally moved to Kara and stayed. Kara felt as if she were being evaluated and found lacking. She sat up straighter.

“The hostess is waiting on you,” Tristan said.

Gizzelle didn't even look in the direction of the woman standing a few feet away. “If you ever need a hair stylist or a personal shopper, Tristan has my number.”

Tristan shot to his feet. His face was hard. “No I don't, and Kara doesn't need your help.”

Gizzelle stared at Kara, smiled coldly, and said, “Spoken like a man who is only thinking about one thing.”

“You're pushing it, and you really don't want to do that,” Tristan said tightly.

“Just trying to help. People in our influential circle can be so cruel to outsiders,” she said, and looked at Tristan. “Perhaps we'll see each other again.”

“I can't think of a single reason why either of us would want to.”

Her head snapped back, and the self-assurance faded from her face. She shot a killer glance at Kara then finally moved away.

Trying to control his anger, Tristan sat back down. Gizzelle still got to him, but not in the way she wanted.

“Your drinks. Are you ready to order?”

Tristan gave the waiter their food order and menus. As soon as the waiter left, Tristan turned to Kara. “I'm sorry for that.”

He'd overlooked her mother's bad manners so she should reciprocate. Besides, the woman had reminded Kara that Tristan wasn't for her. His association with Gizzelle was none of Kara's business, but she heard herself ask, “Is she one of the things you became bored with?”

“She became bored with me.” He picked up his cognac. “We were married less than a year and we've been divorced a year.”

Kara placed her hand on his arm. “People do things they regret later on. Like my bad behavior.”

He wasn't surprised by her concern or by the way his body reacted to her touch. She got to him in the best way. “You were pissed off and scared. My ex was uncaring and gleeful. She wanted a partnership more than she wanted me.”

“I think she's discovered that some accomplishments aren't worth what you give up to get them,” she said.

His hand covered hers. “You care about people. Bess said you called today to check on them. You didn't have to do that.”

Her hand trembled beneath his, but she didn't pull away. “My obligation doesn't end when a patient leaves the hospital. I wanted them to know I'm still there for them.”

“I've met a lot of people who care about the money and not the job. They make everyone around them pay for their unhappiness,” he said. “Bess said you helped them get other services. You went beyond what you had to. Just before you called yesterday, Zachary had called to say Dale had another buddy bring him more beer. I could have kicked his butt for wasting his life.”

So, that was the reason he had sounded impatient. “It's hard when you care for a person and they don't seem to care about themselves. Alcoholism is a complex disease.”

“You're right, but I could still kick his butt.”

Kara almost smiled. Tristan didn't appear to be a man who tolerated weakness in himself or others. Her smile faded. He would have put her mother in check long ago.

“I'm glad Bess has you to help her.”

“I like helping people. As for those you mentioned earlier who just want a job, I bet you don't have them working for you for long,” she said, sure of her answer.

“You would be right.”

“Your meal.” Two servers placed their entrees along with the family-style servings of vegetables on the table, almost taking up the entire space.

Kara laughed. “I think you ordered too much.”

“If it got you to laugh, it was worth it.”

She smiled at him. “I'm glad I came.”

He picked up his glass. “A toast.” She followed suit. “To a new beginning.”

“A new beginning.” She sipped her wine. Over the rim of the glass she stared into Tristan's green eyes, felt the heated rush, the pull, and realized he wasn't just talking about their business arrangement. She wasn't either. Despite his ex's taunts, Tristan, Kara was finding, was a man worth taking a chance on.

*   *   *

The Myers Art Gallery off Elm Street in downtown Dallas was a modern two-story structure. Mellowed by two glasses of good wine, Kara wasn't as intimidated as she'd thought she'd be when meeting the people inside. Tristan, remaining by her side and introducing her as his newest protégée, helped. From the gallery owner to the other guests, people wanted to know more about her. Laughing, Tristan told them they'd have to wait. They were there to enjoy the opening and the artist.

“I think you're a hit,” Tristan said as they moved away to view an abstract by Paul Jakes, the featured artist.

“They're going to expect a lot,” she said, gripping the handful of cards that had been thrust at her.

He turned to her, his eyes direct. “And you'll give it to them in spades.”

Her body clenched. Her nipples tightened. Sexual attraction blindsided her. His eyes narrowed. His casual arm around her waist tightened.

“Do you like
Emotions
?” the artist asked proudly.

Embarrassed, Kara tucked her head. She definitely liked Tristan and the way he made her feel.

“Standing here, I certainly feel emotional,” Tristan answered, his voice a bit husky.

Kara lifted her head to see the tall, slim man in his mid-thirties with a goatee smiling at Tristan.

“It's a steal at thirty-five hundred,” the artist went on to say.

Kara jerked her head back around to the painting, and the discreet price tag tucked in the corner. She studied the painting and though she found nothing to draw her, it had more to do with her personal taste and nothing against the man's talent.

“I want to look around before I make a decision,” Tristan said smoothly. “Thanks for coming over. I'll be sure and blog about the event before I go to bed tonight.”

“That would be great.” The artist stuck his hand out. “If I don't see you anymore tonight, thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure,” Tristan said. “The world needs art and you bring your own special touch to every painting.”

The man's grin widened. Tristan had complimented him loudly enough for those standing nearby to hear. The artist extended his hand to Kara. “I hope you'll invite me to your opening. I'd love to see your work.”

The warmth of his smile appeared genuine. They saw things differently when they painted, they touched people differently, but differences made the world more exciting and interesting. “I'd love to.”

“Excellent.” He enfolded her hand in his. “Good night, and thanks for coming.”

“Good night and good luck,” Kara said.

“Thanks, and the same to you.” He pulled a card from the pocket of his sports coat. “Call me if you ever want to discuss art or other things.”

Kara blinked. There had been no mistaking the inflection of his voice. He'd gone from friendly to interested.

Tristan took the card. “She'll be busy.”

Kara jerked her head around to stare at Tristan. The smile was gone.

“I might have known,” the artist said, then laughed and slapped Tristan on the back. “Don't forget the blog.”

“I won't.”

The man glanced at Kara one last time, then moved away. She realized as he did that he might be interested in her, but he was more interested in Tristan giving him a plug on his site.

“You ready to go?” Tristan asked.

Kara stared up at Tristan. He had acted territorial, and completely out of line. She didn't need him running interference for her, but it was nice knowing he didn't mind letting the artist or anyone else know she was off-limits. Still.

“Tristan—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I was out of line and you can take care of yourself.”