Page 12 of Demon Loved (The Witches of Mingus Mountain #5)
He opened it up and commenced composing a quick drawing of the house before him, an attractive bungalow with a large front porch and cheerful roses blooming in various shades along the front walk.
Since he hadn’t spied any cars in the driveway or any other signs of life, he guessed the people who lived there must be away for the day, most likely at work or school or engaging in whatever activities might occupy them during the daylight hours.
And then he heard Brianna’s incredulous voice. “Bill?”
Startled, he looked up from his sketch to see her approaching with a bulky brown paper–wrapped parcel under one arm. Based on its size and shape, he guessed it must be a painting of some sort, perhaps one of the pieces from the gallery where she was supposed to be working this afternoon.
However, the presence of a painting didn’t explain why she was here rather than safely tucked away at the gallery.
“Hello, Bree,” he said calmly, hoping he didn’t sound as rattled as he felt. “What brings you here?”
Although she was wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes from the bright, sunny afternoon, he could still see the way her brows drew together. “I might ask you the same thing.”
Immediately, he held up the sketchbook, gladder than ever that he’d come up with the simple subterfuge to explain why he was so off the beaten path.
“I enjoy sketching some of the houses and buildings I see during my travels. It didn’t appear as if anyone was home, so I didn’t see the harm in making a drawing of this one. ”
She moved a little closer — not too close, because the bulky canvas she carried prevented her from doing so — but enough so she could see the drawing he’d begun a few minutes earlier. “That’s really good,” she said, sounding almost surprised.
Perhaps some men would have taken umbrage at the intimation that she didn’t believe he could create a worthwhile drawing. Belshegar, on the other hand, was only pleased that she thought it wasn’t dreadful.
“It is?”
She shifted her burden to the other arm. “You’ve really captured the charm of the house.”
“Let me help you with that — ” he began, reaching with his free hand to take the canvas, but she only shook her head.
“No, it’s fine. I need to drop it off at Helen Doyle’s house anyway.”
“It’s a painting from the gallery?”
Brianna nodded. “Yes. She bought it a week ago but wanted it reframed, and it just came in today. I guess she’s having the members of the historical preservation society over for tea later this afternoon, so when she heard it was ready, she insisted that I bring it over right away so she could hang it above her fireplace. ”
Quite a demanding customer. Belshegar wondered if this Ms. Doyle was also a member of the McAllister clan, or simply a civilian who’d lived here for decades.
Not that he could ask, of course.
“Well, then, I won’t keep you,” he said, and couldn’t help adding, “although I’d be happy to carry the painting the rest of the way.”
Even though Brianna had declined his offer of help only a moment earlier, now she looked almost hopeful. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” he replied at once. “You can take my sketchbook, if that makes you feel better.”
She chuckled. “It’s a deal.”
He closed the book and handed it over to her, and she gave him the painting. It was quite heavy, and he wondered at Ms. Doyle for demanding that Brianna drop everything to bring it to her home.
For him, of course, the burden was nothing at all, and he followed Bree to a house at the end of the street, definitely the largest on the block. It was also farmhouse in style, but with an extensive wraparound porch and leaded glass windows flanking the sturdy oak front door.
Could it be that Ms. Doyle might be the clan’s prima?
Brianna knocked, and a moment later, a short, rounded woman with close-cut ginger hair opened the door. Belshegar couldn’t sense anything magical about her at all, which told him she was no prima, but merely a civilian accustomed to getting her own way.
In fact, not only did she take his presence in stride — perhaps she thought he also worked at the gallery — but she bustled him into the living room, and before he knew exactly what was happening, he had a nail in one hand and a hammer in the other, and was pounding in the nail so the picture could be hung.
He had to admit it was quite an impressive piece, a rendering of a lazy summer river with cottonwoods flanking it on either side and a cloud-dotted sky above.
The frame was wide and made of what he thought was oak, the same shade as the mantel that topped the stone fireplace and the furniture that accented the room.
No wonder she’d wanted to have the frame changed out to match her exact specifications.
And although Ms. Doyle thanked them, she also ushered him and Brianna out quickly, saying she needed to get ready for her guests before she closed the front door behind them.
“Thank you,” Brianna told Belshegar once they were heading down the rose-bordered path to the street.
She looked as if she was about to burst out laughing at any moment, and he supposed he could see why there had been something somewhat amusing about the situation. “I’m sorry you got roped into that.”
He wasn’t entirely certain as to the meaning of “roped” in that context, but he assumed it had something to do with being coerced. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m glad I could help.”
“Helen Doyle’s kind of a force of nature,” Brianna went on as they began to walk down the street toward the main thoroughfare.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say no to her.
I suppose that’s why she’s so effective as president of the historical preservation society — people fall in line and make the necessary upgrades or repairs rather than get on her bad side. ”
“She is somewhat terrifying,” he agreed, and now Brianna did chuckle. The sound was as musical as her singing voice, and he knew he wanted to hear her laugh as often as he could.
“Well, here’s hoping she doesn’t plan on buying anything else from the gallery anytime soon,” she said. “But she fell in love with that painting of Connor’s, and I have to admit it does look really good in her living room.”
“‘Connor’?” Belshegar repeated. Something seemed significant about the name, although he couldn’t say why. “He’s the artist?”
Now Brianna’s expression looked almost guarded. However, she sounded neutral enough as she said, “Yes. Connor Wilcox. He’s kind of famous around here — does lots of plein air landscapes of the Verde Valley and Sedona and Flagstaff.”
Belshegar wasn’t sure what “ plein air ” meant. But at least he knew what a landscape painting was, so he nodded and hoped he looked as if he understood what she was talking about.
Aside from the painting, though, he was beginning to see how truly difficult it was to be in Brianna McAllister’s presence and not betray anything of how she affected him.
Out here in the sunlight, her hair glinted like pure spun gold, and although the brighter illumination should have revealed any flaws in her complexion or her features, he certainly couldn’t find them.
If he were at all intelligent, he would find a way to end their conversation quickly so he could go back to exploring Jerome and doing his best to discover where the prima’s house was located.
However, when he opened his mouth, he found himself saying, “I know we’re meeting Saturday to go to the folk festival, but would you be interested in having dinner again tonight? ”
Her mouth quirked. Her lips were too perfectly formed to become precisely lopsided, but there was something endearing about her expression for all that.
“I would,” she said, her tone serious. “Only I’m buying this time.”
“I’m the one who asked — ” he began, but she just shook her head.
“You asked first,” she told him, that hint of a smile still playing around her mouth. “But the thought had entered my mind, too, so it only seems fair that this one is my treat. How about we meet down at Bocce in Cottonwood?”
He assumed “Bocce” was a restaurant of some sort. That would have been fine, except….
“I don’t have a car,” he said. “A taxi brought me here.”
Which was only the truth. Yes, that taxi had materialized out of nowhere rather than bringing him to Jerome from the airport in Phoenix, but Brianna didn’t have to know that.
She didn’t seem too put off by his revelation that he didn’t have a car of his own at his disposal. “Then I’ll pick you up at the hotel. Seven o’clock?”
“That would be fine,” he replied.
And would give him the rest of the afternoon to continue with his exploring. At least now Brianna would only think he was out sketching again, rather than doing his best to discover where those magical artifacts had been hidden.
“I need to get back to the gallery,” she said. “But I’ll see you at seven.”
She lifted her hand in a wave and began walking toward Main Street and her place of business. Belshegar stood on the sidewalk and watched her go.
And although he wanted to shake his head at himself, he wouldn’t bother wasting energy on such a human gesture when there was no one around to see it. Instead, he shifted his sketchbook to the other hand and turned onto a small cross street they’d passed on their way to Helen Doyle’s house.
Perhaps there would be nothing to find here, but he thought he should at least appear as if he was making an effort.
Just in case.