The Artist's Inheritance

Chapter One (part two)

Trevor thrashed and turned throughout the night. He muttered to himself, and cursed, cajoling someone in scathing terms. He awoke the next morning in a black mood, blaming her when he found his coffee too hot. When he put in too much sugar, it was her fault.

By the time he'd slammed the front door, she wanted to slam his head into the concrete. Deep breath, Cait. You love him.

He stumbled as he reached his truck, and braced his hands against the hood. He shuddered and gasped for breath. Caitlinran down the steps two at a time. She laid a worried hand on his back. "Are you okay, honey?"

"I've got a bastard of a headache." He took another slow breath. "No, actually, I feel like shit. I think I better see a doctor."

The problem was, they didn't have one yet.

Caitlin skimmed through their insurance papers, and picked a new doctor. She was disappointed when the man only pronounced Trevor exhausted and prescribed exercise and a dose of sleeping pills when necessary.

When Trevor didn't follow the advice, he was difficult, grumpy, argumentative, always locked in the attic, chiseling and scribbling. Caitlin worried about him every second he worked up there. When he complained of blinding headaches she pointed to his work as the culprit. Even when he took a day off, tried to rest, the pain persisted.

"Maybe a fishing trip won't be such a bad idea."

"The sun will kill me."

She brushed the complaint away. "You're not a vampire."

"How do you know?" He nibbled her fingers.

"You used to surf every hour of the day?" She laughed and tugged away reluctantly. Perhaps he wasn't so sick after all. "We should do that again sometime. Check the wave reports. Maybe we can go tomorrow."

Within seventy-two hours, he pronounced the pain gone, and returned to his duties for his new employers, Wilkins and Brandt Art, the small gallery in Gulf Breeze. Mrs. Wilkins allowed him to display a set of the chair drawings in her gallery.

Caitlin ambled through the gallery, waiting for Trevor to finish for the day.

"How much will you take for these fine drawings?"

The male voice drew her attention away from Trevor's work. A short man with black hair and a lazy eye, dressed in a pinstripe suit and straw hat, crossed the gallery to pause at Trevor's side. "They're your work, are they not? Are they available?"

"Yes, they're mine," Trevor said. "They're not for sale. Sorry."

Caitlin eyed the older man. Who's this fella?

"Don't be absurd, Trevor." Abby Wilkins jumped in before Caitlin could ask.

Caitlin took in his fine coat, the diamond gleaming from his ring finger. More than likely, the man could pay a fortune for the pictures. Perhaps even the chair they had stashed in the attic. Maybe they'd be rid of the stupid thing yet.

"For you, Mr. Hofter? Of course they are."

"No, I'm sorry," Trevor said. "They're not for sale."

Abby choked and pulled Trevor aside. "Are you mad, darling? Do you know who he is?"

Caitlin peered over Abby's shoulder, seeing the man in question studying a Jeffersonian era desk. Trevor grimaced. "I can't say I do."

"That's Marvin Hofter," Mrs. Wilkins said conspiratorially.

"Who's Marvin Hofter?" Caitlin asked.

Abby spluttered and tugged at the collar of her linen blouse. "How can you not know him?"

The name meant nothing; Caitlin could only give her a blank look. "I don't."

"My dear, he's only the editor in chief of Antiques Daily."

Now Caitlin understood why Trevor's mentor was making such a huge deal.

Trevor touched one of the sketches, almost, Caitlin thought, as if he would protect them. "I'm sorry, no. The pictures aren't for sale."

Hofter pursed his lips and retrieved a card case from the pocket of his silk coat. He pulled forth an embossed business card and handed it to him. "If you change your mind, don't hesitate to call me." The man tipped his hat and walked away.

Caitlin kept her gaze on him. Something about him made her want to grab Trevor and move as far away as possible. Like to Siberia.

Abby turned back to them, drawing Caitlin from her thoughts. "Trevor dear, are you all right?"

"Just tired." He frowned. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Earlier you mentioned something about your family. Are things all right?"

Reluctant to answer, Trevor looked at everything but Abby. She exchanged a worried glance with Caitlin. Trevor leaned against the welcome desk, sighed and said, "I had a fight with my father."

This was the first Caitlin had heard of any fight. She opened her mouth to ask what happened, then thought better of it. That he'd mentioned his family didn't bode well. Abby will think he's crazy if he starts talking about his brother and sister. Although, undoubtedly she knew all too well what Gordon did, thanks to news and local gossip.

"I think you need something to take your mind off whatever's troubling you," Abby said.

Trevor shuffled a stack of fliers sideways. "I'm fine, Abby. I'll see you tomorrow. Come on, Cait." He retrieved his keys from his pocket. "Let's go."

He pushed out the door and left Caitlin staring questioningly after him. Mrs. Wilkins patted her arm. "Go on, dear. Keep him home this weekend. Maybe he'll feel better after a break."

As they drove home through afternoon traffic, Caitlin wondered if time off was a good idea.

Sitting at the kitchen table, ignoring his dinner, he drew designs on his napkin.

She picked up his half-empty plate. "You're bored."

"No. Okay, a little." He smiled with a certain glint in his eye. "Can't you think of another way to keep me occupied?"

"I've a nice pie recipe somewhere. You could make it for our dessert tonight."

He snorted. "What, me? Cook? What would Noah think if he found out?" he said, meaning his best friend. "You're the woman around here."

She smiled, scraping the remainder of his dinner into a storage container. "You remember that when all those groupies show up."

She heard him push his chair back and soon, his arms went around her. "What groupies?" he said, his voice husky. He nuzzled her cheek. "Maybe you can skip out of work thisweekend, and see about going to the beach or something? Think you can get the day off?"

"I'll see what I can do." She wondered if there were any reports of sharks around here. "Afterward, you can put your surfboards in the attic where they belong."

Trevor closed one eye, watching her thoughtfully. "In the meantime, I have a great idea of how to spend the rest of the night."

She put the plate aside and turning, she rubbed her nose against his. "Do you?"

"Mhm." He walked his fingers into the opening in her flannel shirt, caressing her breasts, a mischievous smile on his face. "Come with me, and I'll show you."

He scooped her up, carried her into the bedroom and plopped her down on the bed before going back to work undressing her. Caitlin helped, sliding out of her jeans.

His fingers tickled along her thigh. "Caitie, you're gorgeous."

"You're a fool."

"A fool who loves you."

Dragging her toes up his calf, she closed her eyes, welcoming Trevor's skillful lovemaking.

                                                                                              ****