Julie Ortolon - Almost Perfect

His frown deepened. "To work at a summer camp?"

"No, to Santa Fe. For my artwork." She smiled sadly. "You know what the big irony of my life is? I married a man who was the polar opposite of my father. Intelligent, successful, self-assured, and one of the kindest, sweetest men I have ever met."

"He sounds like a geek."

"He was!" She laughed. "The poor guy actually wore pocket protectors when we first started dating. He was also color blind and had no taste in art, which is how we met. His office manager kept badgering him to decorate. So Nigel-"

"Nigel?" Joe's brows shot up. "You married a man named Nigel?"

"I did." She felt her smile spread across her whole face. "He was a tall, lanky stereotype of an accountant, and the day he walked into the gallery where I worked, desperate for art and hilariously clueless, I took one look at him and thought 'Oh, honey, you so need me. For a lot more than picking out your art.'"

Sadness and envy filled Joe's eyes. "You must have made his life."

"I-" His words touched her so deep she didn't know what to say. "Thank you. I like to think I did. We were very happy together. The irony, though, is I married him thinking here was a man who will never ask me to ignore my needs to take care of him. And then he got cancer and that's exactly what I had to do."

"You're saying you stopped painting?"

"I didn't have the energy or the heart to paint. Not often, anyway."

"You must have resented him for that."

"Not at all. No."

"No?" he demanded. "What do you mean, no?"

She frowned in confusion at his outraged expression. "There were lots of days when I resented life, but never Nigel. I went through the full range of anger and grief, of railing at God, and finally coming to terms with the unfairness of life and injustice of death."

"Yeah, I know all about those last two."

"After serving in the Middle East, I imagine you do."

He studied her. "So you're telling me you gave up your chance to become an artist for this man and you have no regrets?"

"Regrets? Now those I have plenty, but marrying Nigel isn't one of them. I think we were meant to have that time together. Nigel helped me grow up, and I think I brought a lot of joy into his short life." She cocked her head, studying the man before her, this grown-up version of the boy she'd loved. "What about you? Regrets?"

"None I care to dwell on."

"There's a difference between dwelling on and dealing with. So, the question is"-she took a deep breath-"where do we go from here? Can you and I put the past behind us and be friends?"

"Maddy…" A humorless laugh escaped. "A five-minute conversation doesn't make fifteen years of anger go away. Especially after learning that you weren't willing to give up a single thing for me, but you gave up years of your life and the thing I thought mattered to you most for another man."

Her back stiffened. "I'd like you to remember, I was seventeen when I broke up with you-and twenty-four and married when my husband was diagnosed with cancer. What was I going to do? Divorce him?"

"No." Anger glinted in his eyes. "But it still pisses me off."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I can't change the past. What concerns me now is the present. Can we or can we not work together without this bitterness constantly between us?"

"You're asking a lot."

"I know that." She wanted to shake him, since she was doing this as much for his sake as her own.

He finally sighed. "The most I can promise is to continue being civil."

"You call that civil?" She gestured toward the camp. "You're treating me like a total stranger whose presence you can barely tolerate."

"You are a total stranger! The Maddy I knew would never have put her art aside for anyone. I still can't believe you did that."

She shook her head. Reasoning with Joe was like reasoning with a rock. "If it helps, that's why I'm here. To find out once and for all if I'm good enough to make it as an artist."

"What do you mean 'if you're good enough'?"

His temper built again, but oddly, it seemed to be on her behalf. "You were good enough back in high school to win that scholarship."

"That doesn't mean I'm good enough to get a gallery to represent me."

"What kind of bullshit is this? Of course you're good enough." He paced away, confusing her with his agitation. Her art was the reason she'd tossed out for rejecting him. Why would he defend it? Turning, he came back. Planting both hands on the canoe, he leaned toward her. "You want to reach a truce with me? Fine! Here's my conditions. If you're going to put me through a whole summer of hell, you damn well better make it pay off."

"What are you saying?"

"I want you to do what you said you were going to do. Become a professional artist. That's why you jilted me, right? Well, if you want me to stop being pissed, you damn well better do it."

"Joe…" She blinked in surprise. "It's not that easy-"

"I assume you brought a portfolio or something."

"I did, but-"

"Good." He straightened. "I have to go into town tomorrow to pick up paint for this canoe. You're going with me so I can take you to some galleries."

"Joe, I have work to do tomorrow." And riding around with him was the last thing she wanted to do. "I'm supposed to help Sandy clean out the prop room."

"Tough. She'll have to manage without you, and you'll work twice as hard the next day to make it up to her."

"But-"

"I'm not kidding." He leaned forward again. "If you're staying, you are not going to play around at this. You're going to do it."

"I see." Her own jaw tightened. "Is this where I snap to attention and say 'Yes, sir!' "

"Damn straight. I'll pick you up at the Craft Shack at oh eight hundred."

Sometimes in life, we all need a little nudge to get us moving in the right direction. If we ignore it, we're likely to get a shove.

– How to Have a Perfect Life

Joe felt a little shell-shocked the following morning as he drove his truck toward the Craft Shack. How had the conversation gone from Maddy telling him about her perfect late husband, the Geek, to him offering to take her into town? Offering? Hell, he'd told her he was taking her, which was nuts in the first place and even crazier because he'd gotten away with it. The Maddy he knew hated being ordered around.

Instead of getting her back up, though, she'd agreed.

Or maybe she'd been too tired to argue anymore. He'd watched her run the full gamut of emotions last night, which, admittedly had weakened his defenses. When he got to the Craft Shack, she would probably march out to the truck and tell him what he could do with his offer to help.

That would be for the best, he assured himself. Far wiser than spending the day with her, having her near enough to touch, close enough to smell. Listening to her talk about her husband, the Geek. Joe tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop. The thought of her giving all that joy and life to another man for years when he could have had her for himself made him want to punch something.

He settled for hitting the horn hard enough to produce a satisfying blast of noise. A flock of crows flew up from the trees, their black bodies in sharp contrast to the vivid blue sky. The day promised to be sunny, with only a few white clouds peeking over the tops of the mountains-although weather in the mountains could change in a heartbeat.

As he settled in to wait, he accepted that what drove him crazier than learning she'd given her heart and her body to another man was finding out she'd set her art aside to do it. The emotion that flared inside him at that wasn't jealousy but outrage.

How dare she set her art aside for anyone?

He might not have spent the last fifteen years with Maddy in the forefront of his mind, pining for her like some pathetic sap, but there had been times when the image of her had sprung full blown into his thoughts: when he'd been deployed in the Middle East and he'd been dirty, tired, and frustrated, when a member of his battalion was blown to bits, when locals hurled insults along with bullets. At times like those, he'd wondered why the hell he was doing it. Why was he risking his life? During those moments, most men thought of family, of their wives and children, their sweethearts or their parents-someone they loved more than they feared death.

For Joe it was Maddy-not her the person, but what she represented in his mind. A free spirit with enough heart and passion to claw her way out of a mediocre existence to achieve her fullest potential. Wasn't that the American dream? The very essence of what men and women were giving their lives to protect?

Maddy's decision to choose an art career over him may have ripped him apart, but he'd never doubted that she would make it. So when he'd needed something to cling to, he'd pictured her in his mind, drinking champagne at some gallery show with patrons raving over her work. The frustration and bone-numbing fatigue of an operation would fade, leaving room for conviction to return. That became the reason he risked his life. Not just for the lofty concepts of freedom, democracy, and justice-although those were powerful ideals when a man was surrounded by oppression and fear- but that image of Maddy the successful artist became his personal talisman, something to conjure up when he needed to draw on his last ounce of strength.

He'd risked his life, sweated blood on foreign soil, so people like Maddy could live free and go after their dreams.

And last night she tells him she didn't do it?

That was not acceptable.

By God, if she came down those stairs and refused to let him help her, she'd have a fight on her hands. She was going to get her art career if he personally had to take her work around to every gallery in Santa Fe.

Just then, she appeared on the landing-and Maddy the ideal vanished in the face of Maddy the flesh-and-blood woman.

Good God, she dazzled him every time he looked at her.

Get over it, Joe, he ordered himself. Don't be a sap. Ancient history, remember?

As she skipped down the stairs, he forced himself to look away, with a stern reminder that he was on a mission that had nothing to do with getting close to Maddy on a personal level. Where this woman was concerned he needed a T-shirt that said BEEN

THERE, DONE THAT, HAVE THE SCARS TO PROVE IT.

Today was about setting the world back on its proper axis. Period. And if that meant ceasing hostilities, he'd do it. He'd be downright pleasant, if he had to.

He heard the truck door open. "Okay," she said, sounding breathless. "How do I look?"

Even though he braced for it, a bolt of need punched through his defenses when he turned and saw her. She stood back a few paces so he could see all of her.

"Is this all right? I was going for artsy but professional." Holding a leather portfolio out to one side, her purse to the other, she twirled about, showing off an outfit that was pure Maddy: a crocheted sweater that was more air than yarn, belted at the hips over a sage-colored tank dress that fell to her ankles.

His body tightened as his gaze ran the full length of her. "I think the boots might be a bit much for summer."

"Oh, no, they're just ankle boots." Hitching up the skirt, she plopped her foot on the floorboard so he could see the 1890s brown-leather boots, an inch of frilly sock, and a lot of creamy bare leg.

"I see." He cleared his throat.

"They're fine?"

"More than."

"What about the hair?" She cocked her head back and forth. With Maddy, the hair was always the crowning touch, but today it was more glorious than ever, a full mane of wild red hair around her heart-shaped face. "Too much? Too big? Too messy?"

"I don't think anyone will doubt you're from Texas, if that's what you're asking."

"I knew it. Too big. I should pull it back. I have a scarf in here somewhere." She started digging through her massive purse.

"Maddy, no, it's fine."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay, then." She released a huff of air. "I'm a little nervous."

"I never would have guessed." As he waited for her to get settled, he wondered which made her more nervous, the thought of showing her portfolio, or of spending the next half hour trapped- alone with him in his truck. Personally, he wasn't too thrilled with the second idea either. They'd both just have to make the best of it. "Seat belt."

"Oh. Yeah. Right." She fastened the belt, then shifted toward him as he put the truck in gear and drove down the mountain. "Okay, last question, so be honest. Did I manage to hide the circles under my eyes? Or can you tell I got zero sleep last night?"