The Baby Bet: The Royal MacAllister Part 15

"Work they won't know about unless we get the word out about it," Delores said. "Let's see, you've done the talk shows, the radio call-in bit, been interviewed for the newspaper, plus that cla.s.sy art magazine and-"

"Don't click off anymore on that list," Alice said. "I'm exhausted enough without mentally reliving it all." She raised her head and looked at Delores. "You've done a marvelous job as my agent, you really have. I know you've made an arrangement with the gallery that anything that sells during the private showing is to be left hanging there for a week, plus they have the extra paintings not being seen that first night ready to display.

"But, Delores? I've discovered something about myself during these three weeks. When someone I know brought up the fact that I would be doing this sort of publicity I was taken off guard because I just hadn't given it any thought. But now I've lived it and I definitely don't like it, not one little bit."

Delores shrugged. "Some people do, some don't. It just depends on who you are."

Alice sat up straighter on the sofa. "That's my point. I really know now who I am in regard to this arena of publicity, public appearances, the whole nine yards. It's not who I am. I don't like the limelight, the personal questions, the prying. I can't, won't, do this again, Delores. Maybe it will mean I won't sell as many paintings in the future, but I want to be honest with you about this. If you'd prefer not to be my agent because I'm being uncooperative-"

"Whoa, sweetie," Delores said, raising both hands. "I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me. You've been a real trouper during this G.o.d-awful schedule I set up for you." She shrugged. "That is that. No problem."

"My art will speak for me, reflect who I am," Alice said. "That's all that matters."

"And that's fine, just fine," Delores said, getting to her feet. "You're going to have a long and successful career, Ms. MacAllister, and you don't have to suffer through any more cameras falling in love with you." She glanced at her watch. "I'm off. Don't get up. I can let myself out. You're spending this last week until the show working with the gallery owner on wall placement of your paintings. Right? Right. Okay, sweetie, I'll see you on the big night. It's going to be fabulous. Ta-ta."

"Ta," Alice said, raising one hand as she sank back against the comfy cus.h.i.+ons on the sofa. "Ta."

See, Brent? she thought, closing her eyes again. It would have all been so perfect.

Except it would never happen.

Because it was too late.

A star-filled sky lit the way as Brent climbed to the top of the hill where he'd stood and watched Alice's plane disappear from view, the place where he'd dreamed of building their home. He'd made this trek every night since he'd discovered the portrait in the pewter frame on his bed after Alice had left the island.

He sank onto the ground and leaned his back against a tree, staring into s.p.a.ce.

Night after night, he mused, he came here, hoping to untangle the confusing jumble in his mind and find the answers to the heartbreaking dilemma he was facing. And night after night he accomplished nothing more than chasing his own thoughts in an endless circle in his beleaguered mind.

"And here we go again," he said aloud, his voice weary.

He loved Alice. Alice loved him. He no longer doubted that she truly loved him as much as he loved her. He had only to look at the self-portrait she'd painted to know that was true.

He also now believed that Alice hadn't been playing games with him, with his heart, his emotions, to fill her idle hours until her career was launched. No, she had simply been gathering enough inner courage to reveal her hopes and dreams to him, to her family. It hadn't been a secret agenda in the negative sense he'd accused her of, but a secret she'd been too frightened to make known.

Brent bent his knees, propped his elbows on them and made a steeple of his fingers, which he tapped against his lips.

He'd gotten that much straight during his nightly treks, he thought, but couldn't move forward. Still there, like an unbreachable wall standing between him and any future happiness with Alice, was the remainder of the mess in his mind.

Fact. Alice was a very, very talented artist, whose career was about to take off like a rocket.

Fact. Careers like hers had to be nurtured, pushed along, with publicity, interviews, public appearances, so that the public could feel a personal link with the artist of the work they were considering buying.

Fact. The necessity of being accessible to her would-be fans and supporters would result in Alice packing a suitcase and flying off to the States whenever her agent said it was time to do it again. Fly off and leave him behind to wander through an empty and lonely house that wouldn't be a home when Alice wasn't there.

Fact. The babies, the miracles, they would have created together with exquisite lovemaking would have to become a forgotten dream because there just wouldn't be room in Alice's schedule for the role of mother. Wearing the hats of wife and successful artist would be all that Alice would be able to handle.

Fact. The scenario he had just repeated...again... just wasn't enough. It was too shallow, too empty too much of the time, to fill him with the happiness that loving and being loved in return should do.

"Ah, d.a.m.n," Brent said, dragging his hands down his face. "It's hopeless."

He'd just keep on as he was...alone. He'd focus on the vineyards, start thinking of producing another new, award-winning wine with a heartfelt intensity. Just as in the past when he'd allowed nothing to keep him from achieving his dreams for the excellence of Wils.h.i.+re wines, he would once again...

Brent stiffened, every muscle in his body tightened to the point of pain, as his heart thundered.

Wait a minute, he thought. Wait just a d.a.m.n minute here. He'd allowed nothing to keep him from achieving his dreams. Yet there he sat, Mr. Holier-than-thou, pa.s.sing judgment on the woman he loved, deciding that what she had to offer him didn't measure up, when what she was doing was exactly what he had done. Alice was allowing nothing to keep her from achieving her dreams.

And she had every right to do that.

"My G.o.d," he whispered, his voice hoa.r.s.e with emotion, "I'm such a selfish jerk. We live our life together, Alice, following only my rules, or forget it. The h.e.l.l with your dreams, your hopes, your years of dedication to purpose. If they don't match mine, they're not worth squat, lady."

Brent rolled to his feet and stared at the brilliant sky in the direction that Alice's plane had flown when she had left Wils.h.i.+re. Left him.

He had been so wrong, he thought frantically. So self-centered and wrong. The woman he loved was in love with him and he'd thrown that all away-broken a precious possession that could never be replaced.

So, okay, Alice would have to leave Wils.h.i.+re to promote her work. But she'd come home. To him.

So, okay, they wouldn't have children. But they'd have each other.

So, okay, it wasn't the existence he'd envisioned them sharing as husband and wife. But it would be theirs, and with compromise, and understanding, and love, they could make it work for them. Forever and ever. Until death parted them.

It was an enormous, terrifying "if"...if Alice would forgive him for the way he'd treated her, the things he'd accused her of that weren't remotely true, if Alice still loved him despite the fact that he had been a rotten human being.

Get a grip, Bardow, get a plan, he told himself. Think. Yes. He'd catch the first plane he could find and fly to Ventura, beg...yes, beg, Alice to forgive him. a.s.sure her that he would always be waiting for her to come home when she was finished with whatever promotional tour, showing, whatever, she'd had to attend to. Make her understand, somehow, that they could be happy there as husband and wife, on Wils.h.i.+re. They could borrow Maggie and Devon's kids to play with or something and...

"Oh, G.o.d, Alice, please forgive me. Give me, us, another chance."

Chapter Thirteen.

Forrest MacAllister stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom off the master bedroom in the home he shared with Jillian. He muttered under his breath, threw in a few earthy expletives, then...

"Jillian!" he yelled. "I can't get this d.a.m.nable tie to do what I want it to. It ends up vertical instead of horizontal every time I attempt to... I need some help here. Please, dear wife, come to my rescue."

Jillian laughed and crossed the bedroom to enter the bathroom where Forrest stood scowling.

"We go through this whenever you wear a tuxedo, Forrest," she said, gripping the silky ends of the tie. "I've been coming to your rescue like this for over thirty years."

"I know, I know," he said, "but I always think that this might be the night I'll finally conquer the beast."

"I see," Jillian said, then patted the tie that was now horizontal instead of vertical. "There you are. You're gorgeous, Mr. MacAllister."

"And you are the most beautiful woman I know," he said, circling her waist with his arms. "I swear, Jillian, you don't look a day older than the first time I saw you in Deede's store autographing your newest book."

"You're such a sweet liar," Jillian said, smiling at him. "Do you like my new dress I bought for this special occasion?"

Forrest followed her and swept his gaze over her from head to toe, nodding in approval at the sea-green, full-length dress his wife wore. It had a scoop neck, cap sleeves and flared slightly from her slender hips.

"It's very, very pretty." Forrest paused. "I'm a nervous wreck about tonight. There has been so much publicity and hype about this event. What if people don't buy Alice's paintings? It will break her heart and... I'm taking a credit card with me. I'll buy a bunch of her paintings myself if I have to and..."

The telephone on one of the nightstands rang.

"Oh, dear, who can that be?" Jillian said. "We should be leaving right now." She hurried to the telephone and lifted the receiver. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Jillian? This is Brent Bardow."

"Well, my goodness," Jillian said, "this is a surprise. Are you calling from Wils.h.i.+re, Brent?"

"No, I'm here in Ventura. I just checked into a hotel, and when they handed me my key card they also gave me a brochure announcing the private showing of Alice's work that's taking place tonight. I didn't know the exact date of it, but the brochure says that it's black tie, invitation only."

"Yes, that's true," Jillian said. "Then the gallery will be opened to the general public tomorrow."

Forrest began to pace around the room. "Brent Bardow. I don't know what happened between him and Alice, but I have a feeling I'm really ticked off at that guy."

"Forrest, hush," Jillian said. "Brent, I certainly don't intend to sound rude, but what are you doing in Ventura?"

"I've come to see Alice," he said. "I've been a total jerk, Jillian, and I'm hoping, praying, that Alice will forgive me. I have to see her. I have to get into that gallery tonight. But...I don't have an invitation and I sure didn't pack a tux. Will you help me, Jillian. Please?"

"What does he want?" Forrest said.

"Shh," Jillian said, flapping one hand at him. "All right, Brent, I'm going to trust you. This is Alice's big night, and I don't want anything to upset her. I'll tell whoever is at the door of the gallery that you're to be allowed in with no invitation."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Brent paused. "I bet it's too late to rent a tux someplace."

"I'm sure it is," Jillian said. "Don't worry about that. You're cras.h.i.+ng the party, per se, so it stands to reason you won't be dressed appropriately. Oh, I hope I'm doing the right thing."

"Jillian," Brent said quietly, "I love your daughter with my whole heart. I want to marry her, spend the rest of my life with her. She's my soul mate, my other half, my partner. I love her. I need her."

Jillian smiled. "I'm definitely doing the right thing," she said, and after finalizing the details with Brent, replaced the receiver.

"Brent and Alice's love is most definitely the right thing, the wondrous thing, that has been the foundation of our marriage for over thirty years," she said, slipping her arm through Forrest's. "Brent will be coming to the gallery tonight. The rest is up to them, Forrest. Now, let's go and watch those pretty gold sold-stickers being placed on Alice MacAllister's paintings."

Brent spoke quietly to the frowning man stationed by the front doors of the gallery.

"Oh, yes," the man said, "Mrs. Jillian Mac-Allister made arrangements for your admittance but..." He slid his gaze over Brent's black, long-sleeved silk s.h.i.+rt, sans tie, with black slacks. "I guess exceptions are to be made for members of the family of the artist."

"Hold that thought," Brent said. "Pray about that 'member of the family' thought."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Never mind. Thanks for bending the rules. It sure is crowded in here. Do you have any idea where Alice...Ms. MacAllister is?"

"I believe she's being interviewed by a television anchorman at the moment, sir. Over there, where those bright lights are totally destroying the soft, gentle ambience we created for the paintings being displayed tonight." He sighed dramatically. "Well, the majority of the work has already been sold, but-"

"It has?" Brent said.

"Oh, my, yes. Ms. MacAllister's showing is a huge success, sir. A star has been born."

Brent nodded and attempted to ignore the cold fist that tightened in his gut. He made his way forward slowly, finally stopping at the edge of the group of people watching the interview take place.

Oh, man, he thought, there she was. Alice. She was so beautiful in that rose gown, her dark eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks were flushed, probably from excitement and the knowledge that she had been recognized as a talented artist. This was her night and she deserved to bask in every moment of the attention she was getting.

There she was. The woman he loved. The woman who held his future happiness in her hands. The woman who had given him the portrait in the pewter frame to tell him how much she loved him. He could only hope and pray that he hadn't destroyed her feelings for him.

"Fascinating," the man who was interviewing Alice said, bringing Brent from his thoughts. "Just a couple more questions, please, Ms. MacAllister. It goes without saying that you'll be touring with your work in the United States while you continue to establish your reputation. What I'm wondering is, do you have plans to extend those trips into Europe?"

"No," Alice said, smiling. "I'm not going to Europe. In fact, tonight will be my last public appearance for a very long time."

"I don't quite understand."

"I have no desire to be in the spotlight. Nor do I believe it's necessary. My paintings will speak for me. They are me. I simply want to continue to paint, that's all." She laughed. "I'll probably get labeled an eccentric, reclusive artist, but so be it. There are no publicity tours in my future. None."

"One last question-is there a special someone in your life? I'm sure our viewers would like to know."

Alice's smile faded. "I...I'd rather not discuss my personal life. What I mean is-"

"What she means is..." Brent said, making his way forward, "there are just some things that should remain private, no matter how much a successful person is in the public eye." He stopped in front of Alice, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"I believe that answers the question quite eloquently," the man said, chuckling. He turned to face the camera. "This is Sterling Masters, Channel Fourteen news signing off and returning you to our studio."

The bright lights were turned off, Sterling Masters and his crew hurried out of the gallery, the people who had been watching the interview wandered away, and Alice stood statue-still staring at Brent, her heart racing.

"Brent?" she finally managed to whisper.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, attempting and failing to produce a smile. "I crashed your party with your mother's help. Congratulations on the success of this show, Alice. I sincerely mean that."

"Thank you, but-"

"Is there somewhere we can talk...alone?" Brent said. "Please?"

"Well, I... Yes, we could go into the office in the back of the gallery, but-"

"Lead the way," Brent said, sweeping one arm through the air.

Alice looked at Brent for another long moment, then started across the room with him right behind her.

"Well, Forrest," Jillian said, watching them go, "a very important conversation is about to take place."

"Bardow better not make my baby girl cry," Forrest said, frowning.

Jillian kissed him on the cheek. "Remember, Daddy, there are such things as tears of joy."