Hearts in Motion Read online

  “This is important, too.”

  She shrugged. “Not anymore.”

  He held his hands out to her. “Abby—”

  “Stop right there.” Gripping the dishrag, she stepped back. “You come any closer, and you’re going to be sorry.”

  “I didn’t handle this right.”

  “Now I need handling?” She pointed to the door and lowered her voice. “Just go. Right now. Just go.”

  “That’s not what I...” He stared at her for seconds, then his lips flattened together in the frustrated way men did when they realized there were no words to describe their idiocy—yet they still wouldn’t admit it to themselves or anyone else—and he looked at her for ten seconds like that, giving her a chance to change her mind. Finally, he nodded curtly, called goodbye to Cara, then left.

  The screen door clanked shut, and a soft cry came from behind Abby. She spun around and saw Cara standing in the kitchen, the outer corners of her mouth and her eyes curved down, sadness bleeding out of her pores.

  Oh shit.

  “Are you mad at Daddy?”

  Abby stepped toward her. “Honey, I’m not happy with him, but it’s nothing to do with you. I...love you.”

  “You do?” The downturned eye and mouth corners smoothed away. “You do love me?” Her voice squeaked.

  “Yes, I do.” With a little laugh that sounded almost like a sob, Abby crouched, her arms out.

  Cara ran to her and slammed into her chest, grabbing Abby around her neck. Abby held on to Cara to keep from tumbling onto her butt. Then she got her balance and, with an oomph, stood. Holding Cara tightly, she twirled her around as giggles spilled from Cara’s mouth, and laughter spilled from hers.

  When she stopped, they still laughed breathlessly, and it took a minute before the room stopped turning. Only then did she see the two cats, one kitten, and the dog sitting at the juncture where the living room turned into the kitchen, watching them.

  It seemed to Abby that their gazes were approving, as if they were thinking, At last she’s doing something right.

  Over their heads, she saw a navy blue car drive away from the curb.

  Screw you, she thought, her mouth tensing. Screw you.

  Apparently she was a bad judge of men. Before, she hadn’t cared about her bad choices. She’d picked men for a fun time, nothing more. Holden had been different. At least, that’s what her deluded brain had told her.

  Yeah, right. How often had she heard other women say that?

  She wished she had kicked him.

  Then Cara kissed her cheek, and her heart clenched, and her eyes prickled. “Ooh,” Abby said, and held Cara to her chest, Cara’s legs gangling against her thighs.

  “I love you back,” Cara said. “I wish you were my mommy.”

  Tears sprang into Abby’s eyes. This was the fourth time Cara had wished that. And for the third time, she whispered, “I wish I were, too.”

  But that was never, ever going to happen.

  ***

  An hour and a half after Holden left, a small truck with Eagleton Furniture painted in big letters on the side was parked in front of Abby’s house, and a young man of average appearance handed her a large, padded envelope. He gave her a long, searching look and admired Lion. She signed the receipt then closed the door.

  “What’s that?” Cara had disappeared into Grace’s bedroom until the delivery man left, and Abby wondered if she was afraid someone was coming to take her away.

  Abby headed for the table. “I don’t know. I think it’s from your dad.”

  “Really?” Cara ran to the table to see.

  The envelope felt thick and stiff, with tape across the envelope flap. Abby fetched a steak knife to carefully slice open the top. As she pulled the contents out, she saw it was an unframed canvas, about eighteen by twenty-four. The background was a gauzy green, and in the middle of it was a floating image of—

  She gasped, and Cara squeaked.

  “That’s you!” she said with a squeal. “That’s you, Abby.”

  “Yes, it is.” She felt dazed. More dazed now than after she’d twirled Cara. It was her yet not her. She looked like...a fairy-tale version of herself, her expression dreamy and yet...sensual.

  She shivered.

  “Did my daddy paint this?”

  Abby lowered her gaze to the right corner and saw the name Holden Ramsay scrawled in black; below it was the month and year.

  “Apparently he did.”

  When she’d pulled out the canvas, a paper had slid halfway out. She set the painting down to read the paper.

  “What does it say?” Cara asked, on the tips of her toes as she tried to read the words on the paper: The first painting I did of you.

  Abby’s heart thumped. She looked back to the painting and noticed she was wearing the turquoise shorts and the lime-green top that Abby was pretty sure she’d worn the first time he’d picked up Cara. Nothing like being colorful.

  “He said thank you,” she said, her gaze going back to the painting, wondering if that was how he saw her.

  “For what?”

  Abby looked at her. “For being so amazing.”

  Cara pealed with laughter as Abby stared back down on it.

  What did this mean? This painting of her was so...beautiful. Was that how he saw her?

  And why had he painted it? What was he trying to tell her? Was this his idea of an apology?

  “Are you still mad at my daddy?”

  “I wasn’t mad at him.”

  Cara knitted her forehead, and Abby felt a tug on her heart. The way she felt when she welcomed a nervous new cat into her home. One that might have been neglected or abused and was watching her to see what she might do. Searching her face and her gestures and her voice. Attuned to changes in her emotions, because she was the one they depended on and they’d been disappointed before, over and over again, and were afraid to trust. Afraid to believe.

  “Okay,” she said, looking down at Cara’s sad, upturned face, “maybe I was mad at him, but that’s nothing to do with the way I feel about you. Didn’t I tell you I love you?”

  Cara’s face scrunched, and she surged forward and threw her arms around Abby’s waist, hanging on tightly, her face pressed against Abby’s belly. Bending over the girl, Abby put her hands on Cara’s back. For the second time that day, tears burned her eyes.

  They stayed that way for a very long time.

  22

  When Holden picked up Cara, he didn’t mention the painting. Neither did Abby, though it felt as if it were a live thing waiting for her in the top drawer of her desk. Hidden from her eyes but not her mind. And certainly not her emotions that were as mixed up as if they’d been stuffed in a super blender for twenty minutes.

  The next day, she got another padded envelope handed to her by the same average-looking young man with the interesting name of Ogden, according to the name on his pocket. Ogden called her “ma’am.” She stifled a groan and told him to call her Abby.

  She thanked Ogden and closed the door as Cara squealed and clapped her hands. “Is that from Daddy?”

  “I think so.” She opened it, and inside was a second painting of her floating in a whitish, sunshine-shot background. This was mostly her face, though she recognized the grass-green top she’d been wearing. On that day, she was laughing. She looked...almost unreal. Like a happy angel instead of a woman. He’d gotten that wrong. She could be critical of other people. She could be messy. She could be unforgiving. He must not have seen that side of her.

  She had faults. Lots of faults.

  “That’s you!” Cara danced around the living room. “That’s you!”

  Feeling unaccountably light, Abby danced with her.

  After they danced, she found the note that said, The second painting I did of you.

  She stared at the words for a long time, as if she could decipher a hidden meaning. But she could no more understand it than she understood what was going on in his head.

  When he picked u
p Cara, she thanked him for the painting again. He looked at her as if expecting something more, but she still harbored a desire to kick him.

  Only this time, after kicking him, she wanted to kiss him.

  Instead of doing either, she hugged Cara goodbye then watched them walk away.

  On Wednesday, Ogden came to her door again. By this time, they were using first names, and even Cara said, “Hi, Ogden!” In this painting, she looked sad and vulnerable. She wondered what she’d been thinking of. How much she still missed her mom and dad, though they’d been gone for nine years? The problems with the barn? The fact that she had raised her sister, but she was twenty-eight and didn’t have a child of her own? That she hadn’t had a boyfriend in two years?

  The note said it was the third painting he’d done of her. She frowned at it. Maybe another woman might feel flattered, but by this time, she wished he’d talk to her instead of writing the stupid notes.

  On Thursday, she received the fourth painting—and right after it, a phone call from a man with a deep voice who said he was Simon Finbar.

  “My angel!” she said.

  With a rumbling laugh, he said his ex-wife would argue that he was closer to the devil.

  The laugh brought back an image from the meeting in Oshkosh with the five members of the investment group as they’d asked her questions. She remembered him now: a thin man about five nine, in his fifties with short gray hair, his face scored with deep smile lines. Definitely a man with a little of the devil in him.

  But she didn’t care about his ancestry. She only cared about his money.

  She asked about his mother, though. He said she was as fine as she could be and was staying with him for a while. Her and her cats, and she was interested in seeing the cat furniture, too. Today.

  Holding back a squeal, she arranged to meet him and his mother at the barn in an hour.

  When she hung up, she let out her squeal then lifted Cara in her arms and twirled her around, both of them laughing. Setting Cara down, she told her about the angel who was really a man with money. Then she called Sam, who didn’t answer but was probably working with something that drowned out the phone’s ring. Grace was at school taking an advanced English class, and Abby texted her about the angel investor, adding that she’d better not be reading it until the class was over.

  After that, she kissed Minnie, Quigley, Lion, and Epic, who had been awakened from their various naps, first by Ogden and then by Simon’s call. The pets gathered around them, watching them intently, as if taking in every word they said and every nuance in their facial expressions.

  Cara kissed them all, too, and told Epic they’d be back soon. Two minutes later, they were driving to the outskirts of Eagleton, straight toward Abby’s bright and shining future.

  ***

  When Holden picked up Cara, he saw the change in Abby. She had a bounce in her step, and she looked like she wanted to break into a dance. But she just thanked him for the picture, hugged Cara, and stood in the doorway to wave them goodbye.

  At his house, Cara set the table for the takeout he’d picked up on the drive home. He spooned out half the sweet and sour shrimp for her, while he piled Mongolian pork on a plate for him. They both dug in. So far, he’d held himself from pumping Cara for information, but if she didn’t tell him soon...

  She was about one-eighth through the sweet and sour shrimp when he asked how her day was.

  “Lots happened today,” Cara said.

  “What’s that?” he asked. “Did Abby say anything about the painting?”

  “Uh-uh. Right after Ogden left, Abby got a call from an angel.” Her voice rose, and she peered at him with an expectant smile.

  “An angel? I didn’t know they used phones.”

  Cara giggled. “Not a real angel. He’s really a man with money.”

  Holden set down his fork. “Is that what she said?”

  Cara nodded vigorously. “She didn’t want me to feel bad when I saw he didn’t have wings. But I already knew he couldn’t be a real angel.”

  “Why?”

  “Because real angels are ladies.” She stared at him, the expression on her face telling him that she couldn’t believe he didn’t know this. “And they have wands, too.”

  “That’s good to know. In case I ever come across one.”

  She frowned. Clearly doubting that an angel would ever come to him. He suspected she was right.

  “He came to see the furniture. His mom came with him. She was old.” Her eyebrows rose. “Really old. She used a walker to help her walk.”

  “What did the angel decide?”

  “I don’t know, but Abby wants him to invest in her business. Then they can make the cat furniture in a nicer place, and they can pay someone to help Sam. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  He nodded glumly. Abby deserved to catch a break.

  “Abby was happy on the drive home. She laughed a lot.”

  “That’s nice.” He looked down at his Mongolian pork and decided he was never going to order it again.

  “Daddy?”

  He looked up at her and saw her forehead was puckered, and he knew she was going to ask a question he wouldn’t want to answer.

  “You have money. Why don’t you be Abby’s angel?”

  “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “Why not? You can even have her work in your place. I heard you and Uncle Ryan saying there was an empty building. Why not let Sam work there?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  She pushed her plate away. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Don’t you want dessert? I have ice cream.”

  She looked at him for a long moment then shrugged. “Okay,” she said, as if she was doing him a favor by eating ice cream.

  “Has she said anything about my paintings?” he asked as he got to his feet.

  She sighed. “If you want to know what she thinks, Daddy, you should just ask her.”

  His movements slow, he gathered their plates and silverware. Cara didn’t understand that asking questions was even more complicated. And as for investing in Abby’s business, that would multiply the complications.

  But if he didn’t...

  He might be making the biggest mistake of his life.

  ***

  When the phone rang, Abby was celebrating with mint chocolate chip ice cream. But she jumped up and left it on the table. Grace was at a friend’s house and would be home later tonight, and she wanted to talk to someone who would share her happiness. Her lips already forming a smile, she looked at the phone and saw Holden’s name.

  She froze and stared at it as it rang again then three more times. She stood there, unable to pick it up.

  This man had made love to her. Wonderful, amazing love. More than that, he’d made her feel cherished. Cared for. It had been so long since someone had made her feel like that. Much too long.

  And then he’d turned cold on her. He’d run scared.

  And now he was sending her the paintings every day....

  And they were so...amazing. As if he’d infused love into every brushstroke.

  Yet he’d walked away from her. Acted as if she were just a babysitter and he her employer.

  She couldn’t handle that, and she didn’t need to handle it.

  The voice mail clicked on, and her body jerked. At her sides, she curled her hands into fists.

  “Abby,” he said, “this is Holden.”

  A choked laugh came out of her mouth. He was so formal. So...proper. How insane was it that she found it sexy?

  “Cara told me about your angel. I just called to congratulate you. If you need any business advice, I’ll be happy to help you.” There was a pause. “Call me,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. Then he hung up; her voice mail stopped.

  Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes so tight she felt dizzy. A noise made her open her eyes and look down into a pair of Siamese-blue eyes. She scooped up Minnie, who draped herself against her, as if she knew that a ho
t rush of loneliness smoldered inside her. Knew that a longing clawed at her heart.

  With Minnie marking her jaw, she headed into the living room and sank onto the couch. Quigley hopped up on one side, and Lion hopped on the other. He wasn’t supposed to sit on the couch, but she knew he did when she was gone. She’d seen the evidence in his short, golden hairs on the green couch, often accompanied by bits of leaves and grass and sometimes pieces of dried mud.

  Right now, she didn’t care. Right now was the right time to break that stupid rule. Right now, he was putting his head on her thigh and making a sad noise in his throat, empathizing with her.

  Quigley was rubbing his head on the other side of her jaw. She petted both cats then managed to pet Lion while still holding Minnie.

  “I love you,” she said. “Why do I need a man when I have all of you?”

  Minnie immediately started meowing in various tones and syllables, staring into her eyes, obviously saying something important. Quigley joined in, louder, but saying less than Minnie. He’d always been more of a doer than a talker.

  Only Lion looked at her with those sad, brown eyes and didn’t need to say anything more.

  She petted them for a long time before she remembered her ice cream. She let go of Minnie and headed back to the kitchen. By that time it had melted, but she ate it anyway. When she was done, she set it on the floor and let Lion lick out the bowl. It gave her a sense of satisfaction to realize that if Holden were there, he would disapprove. He might even be horrified.

  Good thing she didn’t have to worry about the way he felt about anything.

  23

  Holden stood inside Abby’s kitchen. It was messy this morning, with her laptop and the newspaper on the table. So was her checkbook, and he guessed that was the reason for the frown on her forehead.

  “We need to talk,” she said as Cara ran into Grace’s bedroom to play a game on the computer with cats and dogs.

  Holden breathed easier, relieved that Abby brought it up. “About your business, yes.”

  “No, about Cara. She’s staying with you now, right? Our arrangement was for two weeks. Have you found a place for her next week?”