Free Entangled by Barbara Ellen Brink Page A

right now.
    “Here we go.” Handel arrived, lugging a
ten-foot ladder, which he set up under the picture. He climbed
three rungs, took hold of the frame on each side, and paused to
gaze down at me. “Are you sure about this? Up close and personal
its much more artistic,” he informed me, crossing his eyes and
making a face.
    I laughed and stood closer to take a hold of
the frame as he lowered it. “It looks heavy.”
    “Yeah, probably worth its weight in gold.” He
stepped carefully down, supporting his end of the painting and then
some, surprise showing on his face. “Actually, its pretty light for
solid gold. Guess it’s not worth as much as I thought.”
    I ran a hand over the intricate design carved
into the wood of the frame. “I bet this frame is worth more than
Uncle Jack’s entire collection of paintings. It’s a work of art all
by itself. I wonder why he would use such an expensive frame on
this. Did he think he was Picasso?”
    Handel shrugged and set it carefully against
the stack of pictures already accumulated. “Don’t know. The other
frames don’t look so special.”
    I narrowed my gaze on the stack of art. “No,
they don’t.”
    “So where do you want them?”
    “Well, I’d say put them in the basement, but
nobody has basements near the coast, do they? I think it’s a state
law in Minnesota to put a basement under every house. Not so much
for fear of tornadoes, as most people think, but because we
accumulate so much junk. Well above the national average. We need
lots of storage space. Believe me, its murder living in a
condo.”
    “We have attics,” he offered with a shrug.
“But I think you should store them in one of the extra bedroom
closets until you find someone rich enough to recognize true art.
That way you don’t have to lug them up and back down again.”
    “Good idea. I already removed the pictures
from the walls in my room. We can add these to the collection in
the closet. That doesn’t leave much space for my clothes
though.”
    “Since you’ve decided to stay a while, you
should move into the master bedroom. Much more closet space.”
    We carried Jack’s masterpieces down the hall
and stacked them in the closet with the three I’d already hidden
away. Handel offered to help carry my clothes to the other room,
but I declined.
    “I’ll do it later. Why don’t you give me that
tour of the winery you promised. We never got past the tasting room
the other day.”
    “Are you sure you want me to take you
through? Charlie Simpson would be a better guide. He’d know the
answers to all your questions, or be able to find out. I’m just
counsel.” Handel folded the ladder and prepared to return it to the
garage.
    I felt disappointed at his words but nodded
in agreement. “You’re probably right. Besides, I wouldn’t want to
keep you from the office any longer than I already have.”
    “That’s not what I meant,” he said, stopping
in the doorway, one hand steadying the ladder, the other pushing
the hair back from his forehead. I liked the way his hair tumbled
forward, fighting free from the restraints of his grooming, messy
and boyish and familiar.
    “Its all right. You’ve done enough today.
Driving to the airport, cleaning up spilled coffee, fetching and
carrying,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers. “Go. I’ll be
fine.”
    He sighed, his face a mixture of relief and
frustration. “Okay. But if you need me, call.” He lifted the ladder
once more and turned.
    “You never did tell me how you saved my
life,” I called after him.
    He stopped and looked back, his eyes narrowed
in thought. “You don’t remember?”
    “Don’t feel bad. I have very little memory of
those weeks. Just flashes really. Images of a time I couldn’t place
until now. You, the tire swing, a couple of other things. But a
near-death experience was not among them.”
    He grinned, reminding me once more of the boy
from my past. “That’s too bad,” he said and started off