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window in the building next door. The space between the two was small enough that a man of average height could climb out one window and in through the other without risking life or limb, and neither window had a curtain or shade to obstruct the view.
That’s why Colt Rafferty could stand in Gabe Callahan’s office and watch Sage Anderson apply paint to a canvas in her studio. She wore a tight green turtleneck sweater and formfitting jeans. Her long, auburn hair had been gathered and piled atop her head in glorious disarray. She had headphones over her ears and she gyrated her hips and shook her shoulders.
Listening to rock, Colt guessed. Hard, pulsing rock and roll.
He sucked air over his teeth and revised his earlier estimate. “Callahan, I take it back. What you have here is a two-million-dollar view.”
EIGHT
At seven o’clock on the last Wednesday night in February, Sage hooked the tote bag holding her newly completed quilt squares over her shoulder and headed over to Nic Callahan’s house for the Patchwork Angels meeting. She didn’t want to go. She was running on fumes.
Despite her best efforts, she’d managed no more than four hours of sleep last night. She’d awakened about two from a return trip to the Zaraguina stronghold, and then she’d tossed and turned for an hour before giving up. She’d spent the rest of the night working on her quilt squares, which served her well for tonight’s meeting but didn’t exorcise her demons enough to allow her to get back to sleep.
She enjoyed the sewing. Making crazy-quilt squares from the fabric and embellishments of old wedding gowns appealed to her creativity. She loved working with the beads and laces, although piecing delicate silks and slippery satins tested her talent. Still, she’d always been good with a needle. After all, she’d been a darn good surgeon, which in many ways was just another type of artistry.
Sage waved to Larry Wilson, who was locking the door of the building supply center as she passed by. He called out, “Hey there, Sage. Sorry again for the delay in that special order of light fixtures for you. Glad they finally arrived. Bet you’re excited to have the remodel team finally get to work at your gallery.”
She tried to smile and agree with enthusiasm. After all, she’d hounded the poor man to death when the shipment was backordered at Thanksgiving. The major remodel of her gallery and studio originally had been scheduled to begin in October. One delay after another had moved the start date back, but shortly after noon today, she’d received a call from her contractor informing her that work would begin bright and early the following morning.
This was good news, since it meant the work would be done before what she hoped would be a busy tourist season. It was bad news because it meant that instead of spending her days in town working in the studio above Vistas, she’d be painting at the lake cottage. Although she’d planned to work at the lake during the remodel all along, now she wished the construction delay could have lasted another ten days or so—until after Colt Rafferty’s distracting presence was gone.
“I’ll simply need to be firm with him,” she told herself. Just because the man was pushy didn’t mean she couldn’t push back. Rafferty was way too self-confident. Way too good-looking. In her experience, the good-looking ones invariably turned out to be jerks, and she had no use for jerks in her life. She had boundaries, and he’d need to respect them.
Gabe Callahan’s dog, Clarence, met her at the front gate, wagging his crooked tail. She greeted him, scratched him behind the ears, then climbed the front porch steps and knocked on the door. Gabe answered holding one of his infant daughters like a football, and Sage was forced to concede that exceptions to her conclusions about jerks did exist. Callahan wasn’t a jerk and he was definitely hot.
“Welcome, stranger,” he said, grinning. “Nic will be glad to see you. Come on in.”
“Thanks, Gabe.” She smiled at the baby and said, “Hello, sweetheart.”
Unlike almost every other female who came within reaching distance of the babies, Sage didn’t stretch out her arms or ask to hold the child. Instead, she said, “Your little girls aren’t so little anymore, are they?”
He grinned. “The little porkers were both over fourteen pounds at their last checkup.”
“Is Cari over her ear infection?”
“Yes, thank goodness. Her pitiful crying made me feel helpless.” The baby batted