Almost Perfect

Chapter 8

The only way to conquer fear is to face it.

– How to Have a Perfect Life

Outside of Old Town, Santa Fe resembled any other growing town across America. The strip centers offered the same hardware stores, discount chains, mega bookstores, and fast-food restaurants. Except that here all the buildings maintained the "Santa Fe look" to meet building codes, and the urban sprawl ranged between pine-covered mountains and sage-dotted desert.

Maddy frowned as Joe turned off one of the main roads into a light industrial area. Even here, the metal buildings had adobe facades. Her frown deepened when he pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a warehouse. "Is this it?"

"Yep," he confirmed, parking in the shade of a tree in the far corner of the crowded lot.

Maddy twisted in her seat to study the place. "I thought you said it was small."

"The gallery only takes up a small portion in the front."

"What's in the back?"

"Hmm… frame shop and storage?"

Something in his voice made her study him. He wore a highly suspect look of innocence. "This is a reputable gallery, right?"

"Absolutely."

She looked back at the building. The sign above the covered porch read IMAGES OF THE WEST. That tickled some memory, but she dismissed it. With a name that generic, of course it seemed familiar.

"You ready to go in?" Joe asked.

She pulled the portfolio into her lap but made no move to open the door. "Give me a minute to think of what I'll say."

"What's to think about? We'll go in, I'll introduce you to the owner, then you'll take it from there."

"You're right. I don't know why I'm so nervous." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I've been on the other end of this enough times to know what to do. Artists came into the gallery where I worked all the time. Even though we rejected most of them, we were never mean about it."

"Exactly." He reached for the door handle. "Now, let's go in."

"In a minute."

"Maddy…" He sighed impatiently.

"Don't get all exasperated. I know it won't kill me to have them reject my work, but…"

"I know. This is important to you. I understand. Now, let's go."

"It's hugely important." She laid her hand on his bare arm before he could open the door, then pulled it back when he turned. "I don't want to mess up my chances by jumping the gun. My port-folio is okay, but if I wait just a bit, it will be even stronger."

"All right, here's my take." He settled, back against the seat. "You're projecting too far ahead, not concentrating on the task right in front of you. A solid long-term strategy is Mnade up of steps. Today's step is to get past your first jump."

"First jump?" She frowned.

"As in parachuting. The first jump is the scariest. You scream-if not aloud at least inside your head- the whole way down. After that"-he flashed a devilish grin-"the fear becomes part of the thrill."

"You are so warped." She laughed, which helped to loosen the knot in her stomach. "So, was that the scariest thing you did in training? Parachuting?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you stalling?"

"Maybe." She grinned unabashedly. "So was it?"

He relented with a sigh. "No. Jumping out of a plane from twelve thousand feet was nothing compared to jumping off the high diving board into the deep end of a swimming pool."

"Why was that scary? You're a good swimmer."

"Not when I'm wearing combat boots, fifty pounds of gear, and I'm carrying a rifle. Add to that the little fact that I was winded from all the P.T. they'd just put us through and blindfolded so I couldn't tell which way was up or down."

"Oh my God!" Her eyes went wide. "Why on earth would they do that to you? And why would you let them?"

"Because I wanted to be a Ranger badly enough to do damn near anything." Resolve sharpened the planes of his face. "To make it past each cut, we had to prove we were tough enough."

"And that's what they made you do to prove you were physically tough enough?"

"Not just physically, but mentally. The instructors came up with a lot of drills to prove we wouldn't panic under pressure and start acting on our own instincts rather than following orders. For me those tests were the hardest because I've never been real big on trusting other people."

"NaH." She feigned shock. "Surely you jest."

" 'Fraid not," he confessed, straight-faced. "In fact, they actually put that in my psychological evaluation file. 'Has difficulty trusting his teammates.' "

She laughed. "That sounds like something a teacher would send home in a note to your parents. 'Little Joey doesn't play well with the other boys.' "

A corner of his mouth kicked up. "No, I only play well with the girls."

She gave him a look. "Go on with your story. I take it you passed all their diabolical tests, since you made it into the Rangers."

"I did." Pride joined the resolve. "I made it because I learned to suppress fear, to follow orders, and to focus on the task at hand."

She glanced back at the building and made a face. "I suppose the moral of the story is that I should trust you and follow your orders."

"You follow orders?" He put his fingertips to his chest. "Please, let's try to keep our objective obtainable here. Besides, there is no moral to the story. There's only the question: How bad do you want it?"

Determination filled her. "Bad."

"Okay, then." His voice turned tough and ready for action. "Let's go do it!"

"Right." She nodded and climbed out of the truck, then fell into step beside him as they crossed the parking lot. "What's the owner's name?"

"Sylvia. She knows the art business inside and out, and she has a formidable reputation."

"Gee, thanks for the effort to keep me calm."

"No, she's nice. That's why I picked this place for your first jump."

"Translation: She'll be gentle when she rips out my heart and stomps on it."

"What I meant was if she offers you advice, take it."

"Got it." They stepped onto a covered porch and Maddy reached for the door.

"Wait." Joe closed his hand over her forearm. "I just realized there is a moral to the story about the diving board."

"Oh?"

"The last thing the instructors said before they sent me charging down the board for the big drop was, 'Oh yeah, extend your arms.' "

She gave him a questioning look.

"I was holding a rifle with both hands right in front of my chest. If I hadn't thrust my arms out in front of me, I would have broken my jaw the instant gravity took over. So the moral of the story is, don't hold anything too close. Keep things at arm's length, or you'll get busted in the chops."

An incredulous laugh escaped her. "You mean, want it badly enough to do anything to get it, but don't care enough to be hurt when it doesn't happen?"

"Something like that."

"That's stupid."

"But it works."

"No it doesn't. You macho men just like to pre-tend it doesn't hurt when you take it on the chin. I, on the other hand, have no problem screaming 'ouch' and bawling my eyes out."

"Whatever works for you." He opened the door for her and a bell jingled from the handle.

Still shaking her head, Maddy passed into a large room that had been partitioned off to create small alcoves with lots of wall space to hang art. The ambience was straightforward, almost businesslike compared to the other places they'd been.

Off to one side, a young woman with long black hair was talking on the phone. The minute she hung up, a smile lit her face. "Joe. We haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been busy getting the camp ready for summer."

"Well, you picked a good day to stop by. We just got in a new shipment from Red Feather and there's one little gem I think you'll fall in love with at first sight."

"No, please." He covered his eyes. "Don't even start. I have no willpower to resist her work, and my walls are covered. Seriously. I don't have an inch of space left."

"Not even for a little painting?"

He started to object again, then lowered his hand. "How little?"

Maddy cocked her head, caught between anxiety and amusement to see this side of Joe. The movement was small, but it brought his attention back to her.

"Oh." He pulled her forward. "Maddy, this is Juanita, a former counselor at Camp Enchantment. Juanita, Maddy, an artist from Texas. We're hoping to see Sylvia. Is she in?"

"She's in the back. I'll buzz her."

"Thanks."

While Juanita made an intercom call, Maddy looked around to get a feel for what sort of art they liked. The galleries on Canyon Road had handled originals almost exclusively. This gallery, however, dealt heavily in limited edition prints by big-name artists. That hardly surprised her since prints were the bread and butter of many galleries.

Then she peeked into one of the back alcoves and wrinkled her nose at the mess. More paintings leaned against the walls than hung on them. She started to turn away, but her gaze landed on a large canvas by one of the better-known cowboy artists.

"Wow," she whispered, moving toward it.

"What?" Joe whispered as well, although he sounded more amused than reverent.

Maddy checked to be sure Juanita was out of earshot, then started flipping through the stacks of paintings. "I'll say this, what they lack in ambience, they make up for in quality."

"Oh?" he prompted.

"Definitely." She moved to another stack. The originals were all by established names in the world of Southwestern art, the very same artists whose prints filled the front. Any print gallery or mall poster shop who offered Southwestern art carried these artists' works, but few could get their hands on this many originals. "Your friend Sylvia has some major connections."

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Yes, but…" Maddy turned in a slow circle, taking it all in as jitters assailed her stomach. "I am way out of my league here." She rolled her eyes sideways to look at Joe, wondering if he'd stop her if she tried to bolt.

His eyes narrowed in warning.

An image suddenly popped into her head of her running for the door, Joe making a diving tackle, and them landing sprawled on the floor with his arms wrapped about her legs.

Okay, so escape was not an option. She faced one of the few paintings actually hanging on the wall, gathering her courage and ordering herself not to panic.

"May I help you?"

With a start, Maddy turned. The woman stood nearly six feet in height with a rigorously maintained figure, a long fall of silver hair, and a face that took the word "weathered" and turned it into a fashion statement.

"Hello, Sylvia." Joe extended his hand.

"Joe Fraser." The woman smiled. "Always good to see you. Are you looking for anything special today?"

"Actually, I'd like you to meet an artist friend of mine." He placed a hand on Maddy's back, right between her shoulder blades, and exerted enough pressure that she either had to step forward or fall on her face. "This is Maddy Howard-"

"Madeline Mills," she corrected.

"-from Texas. I wanted you to be the first dealer in Santa Fe to have a shot at taking on her work."

"Oh?" The woman turned to Maddy with genuine interest. "What sort of work do you do?"

"Oils mostly." She lifted the portfolio. "I brought photographs if you have time to take a look."

"Always. Bring them over to the framing table where the light's better." Sylvia glided away.

Maddy started to follow, but realized Joe was glued to her side. She stopped and lowered her voice. "I can handle things from here, okay?''

"You sure?"

"Yes." She made a shooing motion with her hand. "Go browse. Please?"

Joe scowled, but stayed where he was, watching as Maddy joined Sylvia at a large table covered in carpeting. Molding samples filled the wall behind them. Maddy laid her portfolio on the table and opened it to the first page. She pointed and talked, apparently telling a bit about each piece. Nodding her head, Sylvia lifted the reading glasses that hung from a chain about her neck and slipped them on.

Remembering Maddy's order to browse, he pretended to study a painting, but his gaze kept darting toward them. What if Maddy was right and she wasn't ready yet? What if a couple of weeks would have given her a better edge? What if he'd pushed her into blowing this chance?

He reminded himself of all the things he'd said in the truck, things he believed. And yet… what if Sylvia crushed Maddy's ego with one glancing blow?

He saw Sylvia straighten. She smiled. Politely. Damn. A polite smile was not a good sign. Maddy smiled as well. Stiffly.

They shook hands, and Joe wanted to kick himself.

The instinct to protect made him take a step toward them, but he stopped. His presence might make things worse. He and Maddy weren't close anymore, even if they had spent a remarkably pleasant day together.

Besides, Maddy looked admirably calm.

Until she dropped her portfolio on the floor.

It landed with a splat and photos went everywhere.

Joe mobilized, crossing the room in long strides, scooping up photos as he went.

"I am so sorry," Maddy was saying as she scrambled to recover her pictures and her dignity.

"What are these?" Sylvia bent down to retrieve several pieces of colored art paper.

Maddy looked over and realized what the woman held. The oil pastels. "Oh." She straightened, alarmed at having this woman who had rejected her finished pieces see rough work. "Those are just some preliminary sketches for a new series of oils I want to do."

"Now these I like!" Sylvia announced, laying them out on the table. "Sophisticated yet playful. Vibrant colors. Very distinctive."

Distinctive. There was the word the woman had used at least three times while flipping through the photos. Yes, it's all very good. You clearly have talent. But your style isn't distinctive enough. Maddy frowned at the pastels. "You really like these?"

"Definitely." Sylvia held one at arm's length. The image was the aspen trees behind the Craft Shack, done in squiggles and slashes, the shimmer of silver-green leaves against white and black trunks.

"So," Maddy ventured, "when I finish the paintings will you take a look at them?"

"Oh, good heavens, don't do that!" Sylvia gasped as if Maddy had offered to kill someone's pet. "You'll ruin them!"

"What?"

"Your oils are fine. Excellent, in fact. Perfectly conceived and perfectly executed."

"But… I thought you didn't like them."

Sylvia looked at her over the top of her glasses. "They also happen to be perfectly bland."

"Oh."

"But these. These!" She held out another image, this one of a gnarled pifion tree growing out of sunbaked boulders. "They're perfect just the way they are."

"You just said perfect was bad."

"There's perfect, then there's perfect. Do you have any larger pieces like these?"

"I'm afraid not. But I can do some."

"Excellent." Sylvia removed her glasses. "Here's what I'll do. If you agree to have these framed at your expense, I'll take them on consignment here in the retail showroom as a test. If they go over well, we'll talk about limited-edition prints."

"Prints?" Maddy nearly choked.

"For our next catalog."

"Prints," she repeated. The memory that had tickled her brain out in the truck clicked into place. Images of the West. Of course that sounded familiar! They were an art publishing company. One of many, but one of the best. She glanced around again, at the caliber of artists they represented, then looked at Joe.

He turned sheepish. Well, as sheepish as a man with his build and dark good looks can manage. "I, uh, guess I forgot to tell you this isn't a normal gallery."

"Gallery, showroom, whatever." Sylvia waved a hand. "I assume you understand I want an exclusive."

"That's, uh…" Maddy's head took a dizzy spin. If this panned out, she wouldn't be in just one gallery. She'd be in galleries across the country! "Not a problem."

"All right, then." Sylvia nodded. "Juanita will help you pick out some framing while I go to the office and get a consignment form."

Maddy managed to control her excitement during the paperwork. It broke free, though, as she and Joe left the gallery.

"Can you believe that?" she asked the minute they stepped outside. "She likes the pastels!"

"I like them too."

"Really? You mean that?"

"I do." He smiled at her as if suppressing laughter at her enthusiasm.

She didn't care if he did laugh. "She took all of them on consignment! And she wants to see more. Oh my God!" She did a little dance as they crossed the parking lot.

Joe did laugh at that. "Congratulations."

"My work is in a gallery. In Santa Fe!" She twirled about, making the skirt of her dress flare, then wrap around her legs. "And not just any gallery, but Images of the West. An art publishing house. I can't believe this! I can't wait to tell Christine and Amy. This is so great!"

They'd reached the truck and Joe hit the remote to unlock the doors. Maddy climbed into the passenger seat as he slipped behind the wheel.

"Oh, Joe." She crossed her hands over her heart and sighed. "This means so much to me. I can't even tell you. Why didn't you tell me this was a publishing house?"

"If I had, would you have gone in?"

"No way!" She laughed.

"Exactly. I picked this place because it looks so unassuming, I knew you wouldn't chicken out."

"You didn't expect her to take me on, did you?"

"I knew it was a long shot-but you know what they say: Start at the top. And damn, Maddy, you nailed it."

"I did." Her body sagged as realization hit her. "Holy cow, I really did." She looked at him, overcome, then threw her arms about his neck. "Thank you!"

He returned the hug without thinking. Then the feel of her in his arms slammed into his senses on one blinding wave. He closed his eyes as the impact sucked him under. Desire delivered a second blow, sending him into a roll.

Before he knew how it had happened, his hands were in her hair and his mouth was on hers. The taste of her made joy flood his veins. Her name beat in time with the pounding of his heart. After years of starving for her, he was holding Maddy, kissing Maddy.

He tipped his head and deepened the contact, thrilling to the feel of her kissing him back the way she always had-with an eagerness to match his own. His whole body came alive as their mouths opened and mated. He wanted to lift her over the gearshift and onto his lap, slip his hands under her dress and feel her warm skin. She moaned again, and arched toward him as if wanting the same thing.

Maddy! His heart sang. He was kissing Maddy!

Good God!

His brain kicked in and his body froze.

He was kissing Maddy!

He jerked back and held her at arm's length, his pulse pounding like surf against rocks. She stared back at him, her eyes wide, her breath coming as hard and fast as his. "What just happened here?"

She blinked as if stunned. "I don't know."

Releasing her as if she'd turned to fire, he plastered his back against the truck door. "We are not doing this."

"I think we just did."

"It was habit." He put his hands on the steering wheel. "A knee-jerk reaction. Put us in a vehicle and bam, we're back in high school making out in the front seat of the Colonel's station wagon."

"Actually, it usually progressed to the back of the station wagon." She looked at the bed of his pickup. "I don't think that's a good idea, considering where we're parked. Unless we want to get arrested for public indecency."

"I don't care where we're parked." His hand shook as he inserted the key into the ignition. "This will not happen again."

"Of course not." Maddy clasped her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead. "Not if you don't want it to."

"I don't." Was she saying she did? The thought made him edgy with panic as he drove out of the parking lot. What had he been thinking to kiss her like that? Or had she kissed him? He honestly didn't remember. The only thing he knew was that barely forty-eight hours had passed, and already she was slipping past his defenses. Had he learned nothing from his last go-round with this woman?

The Rangers had taught him how much physical pain his body could endure, but he refused to spend the summer letting Maddy back inside his heart, only to have her walk away come fall. That much pain he couldn't handle.