be a sell-out before the end of the day.
Which meant she would have to find another artist for the schedule, she realized as an image of Ben’s painting slipped into her head. It would be awfully convenient if she could talk him into an immediate showing, but the likelihood of that was somewhere between slim and none. Winning him over was going to take time, patience and persistence, something she didn’t have at the moment.
She’d just written up her last sale of the morning and drawn a deep breath at the prospect of a midday lull, when Destiny breezed into the gallery, resplendent in a trim red coat with a fake-fur collar and a matching hat.
“Good morning, Kathleen,” she said, her gaze going to the walls, where red Sold stickers were on more than half of the price tags. Her expression immediately brightened. “Didn’t I tell you that a favorable review would turn the tide for Boris? The show is obviously a resounding success, after all.”
“It is,” Kathleen said happily. “Now if only I had something to replace it, once the buyers come back to claim their pieces. I’ve been able to hold most of them off for the next week, but after that these walls could be bare.” She gave Destiny a sly look. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help me out?”
“You saw for yourself how difficult Ben can be. I doubt you’ll be able to talk him into a show quickly enough,” Destiny said.
It was obvious to Kathleen that Destiny was deliberately misunderstanding her question. “I agree, but there is another Carlton artist who’s quite good.” She met Destiny’s gaze evenly. “And I think she owes me one, don’t you?”
Destiny returned her gaze without so much as a flicker of an eyelash. “Why on earth would I owe you anything, my dear?”
“You got me out to your nephew’s house under false pretenses, didn’t you?”
“False pretenses?” Destiny echoed blankly. “I don’t understand.”
The woman was good, no doubt about it. She almost sounded convincing, and she’d managed to look downright wounded.
“It was never about Ben’s art, was it?” Kathleen pressed. “You simply wanted me to meet him.”
“And now you have,” Destiny said brightly, as if attaching no significance to that meeting besides the obvious contact with an artist. “I’m sure in time you can persuade him to let you sell his paintings.”
“How do I know there are more paintings?” Kathleen asked. “I never got to see them.”
Destiny didn’t look a bit uncomfortable at that reminder. “Yes, well, the timing seemed to be a bit off, after all. Perhaps in a few days or a few weeks things will settle down a bit and you can go back out there. I’d recommend waiting until after the first of the year.”
“Nearly six weeks? My, my. Ben must be mad as hell at your scheming,” Kathleen guessed.
Destiny waved off the suggestion. “He’ll get over it. Just give him a little time.”
“Which I don’t have. I need something new and exciting to promote before Christmas.” She gave Destiny another piercing look. “A few pieces by Destiny Carlton would be a huge draw before the holidays. We could do a lovely reception.”
“Absolutely not,” Destiny said flatly. “I no longer show my work.”
“Just like someone else in the family,” Kathleen scoffed. “Why not? I know you’re good, Destiny. You’ve let me see your paintings.”
“Painting was something I did professionally years ago. Now I merely dabble.”
“The way Ben claims to dabble?”
“Ben’s a genius!” Destiny said fiercely. “Concentrate on winning him over, my dear, and forget about me.”
“Hard to do, when you’re here and he’s not.”
“He’ll come around in time. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll find something wonderful for the gallery for the holiday season,” Destiny said. “Even at the last second, there are dozens of local artists who’d be thrilled by an invitation to show their works here. Ask one of them. They’ll accept. You’re very persuasive, after all.”
Kathleen gave her a wry look. “I don’t seem to be doing so well with you. Maybe all Carltons are immune to my charms.”
“Maybe you simply need to formulate a new strategy and try a little harder,” Destiny advised. Her expression turned thoughtful. “My nephew has a sweet tooth. Since you bake all those delicious little pastries you serve at your events here, I’m sure you could use that skill to your advantage.”
Apparently satisfied that she’d planted her seed for the day, Destiny glanced at her watch and feigned shock. “Oh, dear, look at the time. I’m late. I just wanted to stop by and tell you how delighted I was to see that review and to tell you again that I’m so glad you were able to join us yesterday.”
“Thanks for including me,” Kathleen said, giving up the battle of wits with Destiny for now. A retreat seemed in order, since it seemed unlikely she’d be able to change Destiny’s mind.
“I really enjoyed meeting the rest of your family,” she added with total sincerity, “Beth and Melanie especially. Chatting with them was very enlightening.”
Destiny gave her a sharp look. “Don’t believe everything you’re told, Kathleen.”
Kathleen chuckled at her worried expression. “Yes, I can see why you wouldn’t want me taking their advice at face value.”
“What did those two tell you?” she asked, clearly ready to defend herself against all charges.
“Nothing I hadn’t already figured out for myself,” Kathleen said. “You’re a clever woman, Destiny. And a force to be reckoned with.”
Destiny squared her shoulders. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.
“I thought you might,” Kathleen said, her grin spreading. “I’m not entirely convinced they meant it that way, though.”
“Those two have nothing to complain about,” Destiny grumbled. “If it weren’t for me giving them and my nephews a timely nudge, their lives would be very different.”
“I’m sure they would all concede that,” Kathleen agreed. “But may I give you a piece of advice?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t count on getting your way where Ben and I are concerned.”
Destiny looked amused. “Because you’re made of tougher stuff?”
“Precisely.”
“Darling, that only means you’ll fall even faster and harder.”
Abandoning Kathleen to ponder that, she swept out of the gallery, leaving only the scent of her expensive perfume and her warning to linger in the air.
* * *
Ben slapped a heavy layer of dark, swirling paint on the canvas and regarded it bleakly. It pretty much mirrored his mood ever since Thanksgiving. Anyone looking at the painting would see nothing but turmoil and confusion. Some fool critic would probably look at it and see evidence of madness, and maybe he had gone a little mad from the moment he’d met Kathleen Dugan. Heaven knew, he couldn’t get her out of his head, which was something he hadn’t expected.
Nor had he been able to paint, not with the delicate touch required to translate nature into art. The fiasco in front of him had started out to be a painting of Canada geese heading north, but he’d messed it up so badly, he’d simply started layering coats of paint over the disaster, swirling together colors simply to rid himself of the restless desire to be doing something artistic even when his talent seemed to have deserted him. Who knew? Maybe he’d discover a whole new style. Looking at the canvas, though, it didn’t