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“That is one of the best things you could ever say about it. He would have loved hearing it. I wish he could have.”

His voice went very tight on those last words. There was so much emotion in his tone that it spurred her to ask something she’d wondered since the first moment she’d watched him look at that painting.

“Do you think, if…he hadn’t died, you would be who you are today?”

He drew back slightly, his hand still on the door handle. “What?”

“I just meant…if you hadn’t had that tragedy in your life, would you be where you are? Obviously you could just sail by on your looks, but you haven’t done that. You’ve found your calling and built a career on it. I just wondered if you think things would be different, if you would…”

Her voice trailed off weakly as he stared at her. Had she really done it this time, crossed the line?

“I can’t give you an answer to that.”

She had done it. Another apology rose to her lips, even as she wondered what it was about this man that made her forget where the boundaries were. “I didn’t mean to—”

He waved it off. “I’ve just never thought about it like that.” She let out a relieved breath. And then, with a lifted brow, he eyed her a little too pointedly for her comfort. “Sailed by on my looks?”

With one of the greater efforts of her life she met his gaze. She might not be a polished, elegant woman like Jillian, or a resilient, lively, and more attractive—at least to Kaitlyn—woman like his mother, but she was not a coward.

“Please. I’m assuming you have a mirror in that loft of yours?”

His mouth curled slightly. “Only to keep from cutting my throat while shaving. Which, I’ll have you know, I did in your honor this week.”

“Don’t do it on my account. I’ll bet you look even better with three-day stubble.”

Where on earth had that come from? Where had any of this come from? She sounded like she was flirting! On a job, yet. She didn’t do that, not with anyone, but especially not with sexy, gorgeous men way beyond her reach.

And this man, who was undeniably both those things and a genius talent to boot, was looking at her so oddly she could barely think.

“Just ignore me,” she said hastily. “I’m much more tolerable with a camera in my hands.”

You’re not pretty enough to flirt, Kaitlyn. Just keep your mouth shut, and we’ll do better.

Those words, delivered in that helpful, instructive tone she’d come to hate, had been the first time Louis’s words had stung enough for her to doubt his intentions. She’d thought, with all his degrees and education, that he was able to see past the plain exterior to the heart and soul beneath. Fool that she was, she hadn’t realized what he’d wanted was a weak, moldable woman he could shape into what he wanted. An adoring, grateful sycophant. He’d assumed she would be willing to accept that place in his life in return for his acceptance of her lack of beauty and charm.

Turned out she wasn’t. And her determination to keep the vow she’d made then, to never kid herself like that again, was second only to her vow that this would be the last chance she would ever give her mother.

*

Ry pondered themystery that was Kaitlyn Miller as he watched her get acquainted with Latte, the mellow paint they’d bought from the Walkers precisely because he was the calmest, most steady horse Keller had ever found, and it was always good to have one of those around for guests and newbies.

“He’s beautiful,” she crooned as she stroked the horse’s neck. Latte, always willing to accept a new admirer, nudged her with his nose.

“That’s his signal that you can touch his head,” Ry advised her. “You’ve passed inspection.”

She gave him a startled look, but immediately went back to the horse. Mystery wasn’t the word for it. It wasn’t that she’d complimented him—he’d had to learn early that people, especially women, seemed taken with his looks, while his mother had seen to it that he knew how surface that was—but what kind of woman felt the need to apologize for complimenting someone? She was a puzzle, and in the same way he’d been fascinated by figuring out how the pieces of the vase he’d broken went together, he was fascinated by what had shaped this woman into the puzzle she was.

And by the simple fact that her compliments meant something to him. It mattered that it was this woman saying words he’d heard before. And that had startled him. As had the fact that he’d felt a warmth stirring inside him that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You probably scared her, staring at her like that. Maybe she thought she’d trespassed or something, because she’s here for a job.

He remembered Jillian’s treatment of her and could see where she might be wary. Clearly the writer thought Kaitlyn should stay in her place. And that rankled him. Especially after he’d seen the images Cody had found. Maybe it was that he was a visual artist himself, but while he appreciated good writing, images such as hers were what sparked instant appreciation in him.

If you hadn’t had that tragedy in your life, would you be where you are?

He truly hadn’t ever thought about it that way, maybe because he tried not to think about it at all. He knew that life had blown up, been ripped apart as if by a Texas tornado. Keller had come home and helped Mom pick up the pieces, Chance had taken off to follow Dad’s path into the military, and little Cody had retreated into his computers and gadgets. Him? Chance always said he’d gone to silent running after Dad’s death, stepping back, not talking much to anyone about anything. And part of that was not spending a lot of time analyzing the impact that death had had on him and his life.

And here this woman he’d met just yesterday—well Monday, if you counted almost knocking her flat with a door in town—had spun it around in a way he found impossible not to think about. Would he have found his way to this? Would he have even thought about it if he hadn’t been desperate to fill the void?