Free When Morning Comes by Francis Ray Page B

charm.
    His phone rang just as he closed and locked the front door. “Tristan.”
    â€œThis is your answering service, Mr. Landers. You had eight calls.”
    Opening the door of his truck, Tristan grabbed his day calendar. “Shoot.”
    â€œYour mother said for you to call her. Jiles, the editor of Luxury magazine, and Sandra Collins, associate editor for Interior Design, both called twice. Here are the numbers,” she said, then gave him the information. “Patrice Wilson three times. She said you have her cell, home, and work phone number.”
    Tristan winced. He and Patrice had been out three times, to bed once. A big mistake. She was too clingy and too demanding. He’d told her it was over several times. He didn’t look forward to telling her again.
    â€œA person called for Kara Summers—”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œA woman called for Kara Summers and asked that you call her back at 999-287-5555. She was the last call.”
    â€œThank you. Good-bye.” Frowning, Tristan stared at the hastily written phone number. Why had someone called for Kara? Was it about Dale? Or did she want to talk about honest men or her paintings? There was one way to find out.
    He got a dial tone and punched in the number.
    *   *   *
    Kara freely admitted she was a coward. She’d showed her mother Dillard’s sales paper, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to resist going. Kara would pay for it later when the bill came, but she wanted to be able to talk freely if Tristan called.
    Too restless to remain inside, she’d taken her easel and canvas, and set up in the backyard a few steps away from the patio covered with pink peace roses. The elm tree cast dappled shadows over her, but not the canvas.
    Paintbrush in her hand, she paused. There was a face instead of the strand of forest with wildflowers she’d planned. No matter how she tried to think of him by his last name, she thought of him as Tristan. While she’d told Sabrina to be careful when she’d left a short while ago to go check on Mrs. Ward and see Dr. Mathis, Kara would do better to tell herself to be careful. Now, she was painting him.
    If her mother knew—
    The ringing of the cordless phone startled her. With trembling fingers she drew it out of the pocket of her apron. Seeing Tristan’s name, her hand began to shake even more.
    The ringing came again. She swallowed and pressed TALK . “Hello.”
    â€œKara.”
    She came to her feet, moistening her suddenly dry lips. “Yes, Tr— Mr. Landers. This is she.” She wanted to groan. Of course he knew it was her.
    â€œIs this about Dale?”
    â€œNo, I wanted to discuss my paintings.”
    â€œDo you have others I could see?”
    â€œYes.” She laughed nervously. “A lot. They’re in the attic.”
    â€œThe attic! You’re kidding, right?”
    Her mother hadn’t liked the clutter when she’d moved in to help care for her father when he’d become so ill. “I tend to do larger canvasses.”
    â€œI understand. Can I come over and see them?”
    â€œNo, I mean—” She moistened her lips.
    â€œIf it’s not convenient for you now, perhaps you can tell me when,” he said. “I start a new project Monday and I’ll be tied up every day except Sunday for the next six weeks or so.”
    Coming to the house made sense. There were too many paintings to take to him. Plus, he could see which ones he liked.
    â€œWhat exactly do you plan for my paintings?” she asked.
    â€œI have an idea, but I’d want to see the other paintings to see if they have the same appeal.”
    Kara wrapped her arm around her waist. If they didn’t … She looked at her watch. Her mother had been gone for an hour. She’d be gone for at least two hours. She might even go to Patrizio’s restaurant in the Uptown shopping mall and have lunch or