Page 83 of Silver-Tongued Devil

“Maybe a hundred times. But with you? Only because I know you’ll push back, and I do enjoy a contest. You ready to hear my idea?”

“Shoot.”

“I need to take a couple days Monday and Tuesday and check in over in Portland. I think you should come with me. You’ve got a stack of flowers done in that workroom of yours, and Russell says you haven’t figured out what to do with them. Now, Portland… it’s got a pretty sweet art scene, and they surely do like Western artists.”

“You know this how?”

He put a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I’ve got houses, darlin’. Houses need stuff on the walls. Why do you think I bought all those pieces from you?”

She eyed him, and he grinned and said, “Yeah. That too. But that wasn’t the only reason.”

“I think you should go,” Russ said. He put a pan of scrambled eggs in the middle of the table and tossed a piece of toast each onto three plates. Plating, Russell-style. “Blake thinks you ought to be in higher-end galleries. I think so too. If he thinks Portland’s a good spot for it, I don’t see why you shouldn’t try.”

“I already did,” Dakota said. It wasn’t fun to admit, but it was the truth. “I know which galleries would be best, but they don’t want stained glass. It’s not considered art.”

“Who says?” Blake asked.

“Well, let’s see. The owners?”

“Uh-huh. What did you show them? How long ago?”

“Is this an inquisition?”

“Nope.” Blake spread jam on his toast. “It’s a temporary obstacle, and the way to get over it is to figure out why it didn’t work, fix that, and try again. So I’m going to ask the next question. Did you show them those flowers?”

“Well, no. I hadn’t done the flowers yet.”

“How about the shells?”

“I told you. The shell was experimental.”

“That’s right. Experimental.” He took a bite of toast, then said, “You should eat your breakfast. Most important meal of the day.”

“I am.” She dished herself up some scrambled eggs. “But not because you say so.”

He grinned, and she had to laugh. “All right,” she admitted, “that was fairly childish.”

“Starting over,” Blake said. “What’s the best gallery? What’s your dream?”

“In Portland? Elizabeth Fischer. That’s the big one for Western artists.”

“You tried them?”

“Of course. She said no. Very scary lady.” She didn’t want to talk about that anymore, so she asked, “ How can you leave, though? Don’t you have to do… things… at the resort? Especially checking into all those possibilities we talked about last night?”

Blake’s jaw was covered with dark stubble now, after two mornings of not shaving. She got sidetracked for a moment by that. He hadn’t even kissed her this morning, and that stubble would feel… interesting.

He said, “CEO, baby,” and she had to think to remember what they’d been talking about. “That means you don’t have to get down in the weeds. You’d just get in the way. I’ve got a resort manager. He gets to sweat it. I already passed it all along to Jennifer. And not that this isn’t fascinating, but we were talking about you.”

“I have a job. I have a deadline, and I’m already behind.”

“Deadline just got extended.”

“I thought you said you’d have guests before the opening. When is that, in ten days? I haven’t even started the downstairs.”

“Yep. My mom and dad. They’re finicky, it’s true, but I think they can put up with my whole house not being painted. Good thing I paid you that rush fee, too,” he added when she’d have said something else. “And that Iheardthat doctor say, ‘Take it easy for the next few days, especially with your lungs.’ Climbing up and down ladders and breathing those fumes isn’t taking it easy in any way, shape, or form.”

He shut up, then, and looked at her.