Sari frowned. “Why?”
“His mother celebrates Christmas. He went to one of those liberal colleges up north, and when he went home for the holidays, he made some sarcastic remarks about religion being nothing but superstition and backward people who believe in a higher power. Hurt his mother’s feelings. Then she said some things about Ren’s father, and he overheard it. He just walked out the door and went to live on the ranch with his father. He pulled the ranch out of bankruptcy and built it into an empire. But he hasn’t spoken to his mother since. He holds grudges.”
Sari drew in a breath. “That’s sad. Sometimes I wish our mother was still alive. She was so kind.”
“I think Ren’s mother is, too,” Merrie said. “He let me use her studio to paint in while I was there. He said she loved to paint flowers.”
Sari smiled. “A woman who loves flowers can’t be all bad.”
“I thought the same thing. I hope he relents someday and talks to her. Delsey said something about his mother having a test and being worried about a biopsy.” She looked at Sari. “Sometimes you think you have all the time in the world to make up, and you don’t.”
“I know many cases of that. Grudges are sad.”
“They are. Ren’s so alone,” she said softly. “Except for Delsey and Randall he really doesn’t have anybody. He’s...self-contained. He lives alone, inside himself. He won’t let anyone else in. I guess Angie dynamited the last little bit of love he had inside him.”
“He might change one day, honey.”
“He might not.” Merrie was sad. “I thought we were headed toward such a sweet future together. And here I am back home alone.” She sighed. “But it could be worse, I guess,” she added. “I asked Delsey if she could fix me some grits, and she asked me what a grit was.”
Sari laughed. “Paul says they aren’t common up north.”
“I can’t imagine people who don’t eat grits,” Merrie replied. “It’s the seeds of barbaricism!” she said facetiously.
“There’s no such word,” her sister said.
“Sure there is. I just made it up. It’s my word. I own it.” She struck a pose. “And don’t try to appropriate it, or I’ll accuse you of artistic theft.”
“Whatever you say. Barbaricism,” she scoffed, shaking her head.
“I’m going to take my new word into town and share it with Brand Taylor,” Merrie told her. “Come on. I’ll be perfectly safe.”
Sari gave in with a sigh. “Okay. Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” Merrie assured her. “I’m an artist. We know stuff!”
“I won’t argue with that.”
*
THE CHAUFFEUR WAS kind and polite. Sari had hired him on Paul’s recommendation. When the bodyguards weren’t around, Mr. Jones was.
He dropped Merrie off at Brand Taylor’s gallery in Jacobsville and waited outside in the vehicle for her.
“Miss Grayling,” Brand greeted her. He grinned as he shook hands. “I was hoping you might stop by one day. I understand that you might be in the market for an art gallery, and I want to retire to the Bahamas.”
“The Bahamas?” she exclaimed, laughing.
“Yes. I’m going to become a professional beachcomber. I may never put on a suit again,” he added, indicating the elegant one he was wearing.
“I would love to buy you out, if you’re serious,” Merrie replied with a smile.
“In that case, shall we discuss options?”
*
MERRIE WAS ON top of the world when she came out of the art gallery. She and Mr. Taylor had agreed on a price. Of course, an evaluation of his inventory would have to be done, and two Realtors would also chime in on the property itself. Merrie told him she’d match the higher estimate, just to make sure his beachcombing dreams could really come true. He was delighted.
She climbed into the backseat of the limo, her head spinning with dreams and ambitions that she’d never before had a chance to realize. Her father would never have allowed her to buy an art gallery, any more than he’d let her date.
It was going to be a poor substitute for Ren. But she would have something to keep her busy. Something to help bury her broken heart in.
Maybe eventually she could forget how it felt to lie in Ren’s strong arms and feel his mouth devouring hers. He’d been hungry for her, almost starving. It had probably been a long time since he’d been with a woman, she reminded herself. No wonder he’d been starving. It wasn’t even personal.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t even realize that Mr. Jones was speaking to her.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! I was lost in dreams of business ownership,” she said with a laugh. “What was that, Mr. Jones?”
“I said, where do you want to go now?” he asked with a smile.
“To Barbara’s Café,” she said. “I’m going to get one of her chocolate cakes to take home for lunch.”
“Not a bad idea,” he said.
“Absolutely,” she agreed.
*