Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

One month later…

"Chloe, darling!" cried Madeline Grant, the owner of the prestigious Grant Gallery located right in the heart of art central New York City. Maddy, as she was known by to her friends.

Flinging out her arms, she waited for Chloe to bring herself into them. Maddy was too high up in the art world to walk up to anyone; people came to her, and that's what Chloe did.

Pasting on her best smile, Chloe hugged her online friend and real-life acquaintance with as much fake enthusiasm as she could muster. And she was pretty sure Maddy was doing the same.

Oh, Maddy seemed nice enough whenever they talked, but if she wasn't the queen of making or breaking the artists she liked to open her gallery for, then she was definitely high enough up in the echelon of royalty that it didn't matter.

Why Maddy had ever latched onto her work, Chloe still didn't know, but she had to admit, her latest works looked good on the walls tonight.

The Grant Gallery was top-notch in elegance with homogenous stone floors and walls, a many windowed ceiling, and strategically placed lights that looked like stars, especially at this time of night.

"We've a full house coming tonight," Maddy crowed as she released Chloe to hold her at arm's length instead. "Every single ticket sold, making me very happy lady indeed. And just look at what you've brought me! My darling, how ever did you do it? It's all so alluring! I'll bet every one flies right off the walls as soon as we open the doors."

"You're not open?" Chloe looked to the thirty or so people already musing their way around the walls where the twenty-some-odd portrait and landscapes she'd prepared for this showing were being displayed. "Why are there so many people then?"

Linking her arm with Chloe's, Maddy smugly beamed. "Maddy Magic, darling. It's nothing but a bunch of my favorite high-paying collectors, with perhaps a museum director or three sprinkled in amongst them."

Jaw dropping, Chloe's stomach dropped, hitting the floor tiles between her black high heels. "Are you kidding me?"

Smirking, the other woman leaned in conspiratorially close. "How do you feel about seeing your work hanging in Chicago's Institute? Or the Louvre?"

Chloe clapped a hand over her mouth barely in time to block her unprofessional squeals. "Are you serious?"

"Silly thing, of course I'm serious," Maddy scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Maddy took her on a tour of the gallery floor, letting Chloe see how her work looked on the walls. Frankly, she was still so stunned about walking among museum curators, she barely noticed. Not until one of Maddy's highly professional assistants walked up to them and handed Maddy three elegant white cards with big, black, calligraphy letters that read: SOLD.

"Don't ever call me anything less than your saving angel, darling." Maddy beamed, smug all over again. "Congratulations! The doors aren't even open yet, and you've sold three paintings."

Heart skipping wildly, Chloe clapped a hand to her chest as if that could keep it from escaping completely. Three of her twenty works sold already? Possibly to a curator? She couldn't breathe.

Eyeing her thoughtfully, Maddy held out the sold cards. "Would you like to hang these first ones yourself?"

Though phrased as a question, no one said no to Maddy, especially not when their art was in her gallery.

Slightly panicking with excitement, strangely, no was the last thing Chloe wanted to say. "I'd love to."

Arm in arm, they walked through a minor maze of display walls all decorated with her latest art. She knew every piece by heart, and yet Chloe stopped frequently, pausing to gaze on each scene with a mix or adoration and loss and a hell of a lot of good memories.

There was the kitchen scene where she sat cradled on his lap. In reality, she'd been naked, but that wasn't the kind of work she was known for. Especially not when the naked woman in the portrait was her. So she'd painted herself in clothes and used light and shadow to infuse intimacy into each brush stroke. She liked this one so much she'd almost changed her mind about selling it, but she wouldn't be much of a businesswoman if she kept everything she created. Besides, there was another she couldn't bear to be parted from; she wanted that one more.

On the next wall hung her memory of Hamish sleeping at the airport, his long body stretched out across the seats. On another, they walked side by side into the sunset with her hand firmly clasped in his. Daddy, taking his Little girl–his wee lassie–for a walk into the sunset.

Her, holding Daddy's hand, marveling at the strength and size that had so effectively reduced her to tears each time he took her across his knee.

Hamish, taking off his belt by the hearth, the roaring fire behind him, the sultry shadow doing nothing the hide the burning hunger in his gaze.

Her, hugging her knees to her chest while he washed her hair.

Them together, lying in tangled sheets, staring into one another's eyes.

And then she spotted it, the one portrait in the collection she refused to part with–them, on the flyboard amid the splashing of the lake water as they danced on the surface, her back to his chest, her arms flung out wide. Kate Winslet in the arms of her very own Leonardo Dicaprio.

This time, Maddy stopped to gaze on it before her. "My favorite piece of the lot," she said. "Apparently, at least one other collector thinks so too."

Smiling, she handed Chloe the first sold sign, and just like that all excitement within her died.

"This one? No!"

Surprised, Maddy stared at her. "What do you mean no?"

"This was the one I didn't want to sell! I can't let it go, Maddy. I can't!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, darling!" Maddy finally sighed in mild irritation. She clasped her cool hands to Chloe's cheeks, giving her a gentle shake. "Wipe all that sadness from her eyes! This is the grandest moment of your entire life. Act like it! Besides, you didn't just find this gorgeous piece. You made it! Just paint another one. God knows you've got the skill."

Tsking, Maddy rolled her eyes, shook her head, and moved on to schmooze with more cheerful collectors.

Chloe wilted. Maddy had sold it. The only one of her works she'd brought that she'd really wanted to keep–her last, best tie to Hamish and all the time she'd spent with him. And just like that–poof–she'd lost it.

Tears flooded her eyes as she stared up at it, needing to walk away and unable to so much as blink.

Snap out of it, she hopelessly scolded. Nobody bought art from a crying artist.

"Damn," a familiar voice behind her breathed, and Chloe gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You made me look good."

Hamish!

No… it couldn't be. It just couldn't.

Chloe turned slowly, unsure of what terrified her the most–being wrong about who it was, or being right.

Slipping his hands in his pockets, Hamish stood beside her, fully decked out in a dark gray suit and scarlet tie, staring up at the painting.

"You're good," he finally said. "This is beautiful."

"Hamish?" she whispered, stunned.

He slipped closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders before pulling her in to stand under his arm.

She almost burst into tears. Clapping her hands over her mouth, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, bowing her, fighting back the hot, sting drops now flooding her eyes no matter how hard she bit her lip to keep them back.

"How?" she breathed. "Why… wh-what are you doing here?"

"I came to support the woman I fell in love with, nevermind how stubbornly I fought against it."

Her jaw dropped, her head snapping up as she stared at him.

"I've been haunting you online," he admitted. "And there hasn't been a day gone by that I haven't thought of you at least a dozen times an hour."

It had to be at least two dozen an hour for her, but her throat was too tight to speak.

"I knew I'd made a mistake the moment I left you at the airport. But, I guess it was the kick in the butt I needed to do what I should have from the start."

Chloe shook her head. "I…"

He turned abruptly, facing her. "I went back to therapy. I go every two weeks, plus to a group counseling session for military folk like me. They meet weekly. I've been to every one so far."

She had no idea what to say, apart from, "I hope it helps you."

"They put me on meds," he continued. "Did you know they have a pill you can take to control nightmares? I haven't had a single one since I started taking them. "I haven't woke up swinging for three weeks."

She feigned another smile, trying hard to be happy for him. "That's great."

She didn't think she'd had a successful night's sleep since they'd parted. Which didn't mean she couldn't be happy for him, but God, did she ever miss him. And having him standing right here, talking as if they'd never parted… it was heart-wrenching.

How long was he going to stay? Was it just a few minutes, or maybe he'd be in New York a few days? Did it matter? Eventually he would go back home and she'd still be stuck here, without him. She couldn't bear it. Here she was, floundering to keep her tears in check, and he just kept talking like nothing about this was killing her.

"So I've been thinking," Hamish said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I could open my house to Ben, my best farmhand, for a private house and office. I trust him not to wreck the place while I'm gone."

He'd come here just to tell her he was leaving his family home? Like it was her fault? With her luck, it probably was. God knows everything that could have gone wrong on her did. With Hamish standing right here, it still was.

The dam of her tears broke, sending them pouring past her lashes and down her cheeks. She turned away from him, hoping to hide them, but there was no leaving his side. Already his hand had hers, his fingers slipping between hers, holding her to him.

"Chloe, look at me."

She couldn't. She looked everywhere but him. People were looking at them. God, they were making a scene, nevermind how softly they'd been speaking. At the wall directly across the floor from where she was standing, a tuxedoed man looked up at the portrait he'd been admiring, then back at them. He did a double-take, staring up at the painting again, before nudging the man next to him. He pointed to them, and Chloe wilted, dying inside.

No, no, no ! Not here, not like this.

"Chloe," her Daddy purred, cupping her chin and tenderly forcing her to face him. When he saw her tears, it was as if the whole of his strong body softened. With both hands now, he cupped her face, the warmth of his touch spreading into her, followed by a wave of that wonderful, awful, tingling anticipation his touch never failed to spark.

Her legs began to shake. His gaze softened, his thumbs stroked her cheeks, wiping her ocean of tears away.

"Oh my wee bairn," he breathed. "I didn't come here to make you cry. I came because I cannae live without you. I don't even want to try."

Rooted where she stood, Chloe tipped her head, staring up at him, baffled, unable to process what she was hearing. "Wh-what?"

His hands dropped to her shoulders. He gave her a single, gentle shake. "I love you, lass. I've been staring it in the face for the last month and there's no denying it."

He shook her again, forcing her attention only on him instead of all the whispering that had broken out around them. She could feel the burning stares, boring into her back. But it was nothing like the burning that consumed her as his words began to sink in.

"Do you hear me?" he asked, brow furrowing as his gorgeous green eyes stared into hers. "Have I ruined things to the point that you cannae say it back to me? I dinnae need to stay in Scotland. I'm saying I'm willing to go wherever you are, because being without you is intolerable."

Something inside her broke. The roots were gone, and so was the sadness. Was he saying what she thought he was?

"You love me?"

Releasing her shoulders, he caught her by the hands as he dropped to one knee.

The whispers around her erupted in volume, punctuated by hushed squeals.

"Oh my god!"

"He's proposing!"

"That's the guy in the pictures!"

"You love me?" she whispered, her fingers squeezing onto his hands.

"With all my heart," he assured. Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, he withdrew a small jewelry box. Opening it, he held up the ring for her to see. She stared into the scarlet fire opal, with sparkling facets in every color of the rainbow and tiny diamonds set into a rose gold band.

"The sparkles," she whispered, a slow smile breaking through her lingering tears. "Is this really happening?"

Taking her hand in one of his, he offered her the ring. "Chloe Hardt, will you do this useless man the honor of becoming my wife?"

She grabbed her own hands, ignoring the ring for fear she might be completely misreading the entire incredulous situation. "Your wife? Really?"

"For real." His smile this time was genuine. "This lad desperately wants to be your husband, if you'll let him."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't believe her ears, either. Lowering her voice, painfully aware of how pin-drop quiet the gallery had become from the moment he'd proposed, she whispered, "Will, um… Will you still be m-my…"

"Daddy?" he guessed. "Is there any other way for us?"

Hamish burst up onto his feet in time to catch when Chloe launched herself at him. Her arms wrapped his neck as she burrowed into his chest, luxuriating in the warmth of an embrace she once had thought she'd never feel again.

"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, hardly able to hear her own voice under the cheers and applause that erupted around.

"Only at the Grant Gallery," she heard Maddy self-plug above the celebrating din.

Chloe didn't care. Everything she could ever want, she'd just found, right here in Hamish's arms. It was in the way he bent to pick her completely off the floor, and in the rumble of his voice as he whispered, "Daddy's got you, wee one. Daddy will always keep you safe."

Just so long as he always kept her with him, nothing else mattered.

"I love you," she sobbed into his shoulder. "You know I can paint anywhere, right?"

Setting her down on her feet, he held her far enough from him for their eyes to meet.

"The last thing I want is to rip you from your family," he said, smoothing her hair back out of her face.

Chloe shook her head, half laughing as she wiped her face. "Daddy, if my family wants to find me, they can look me up online. I've never matched up to my siblings' talent in my family's eyes. What point is there in staying here, hoping someday they'll change their minds, when I already know my happiness lies wherever you are? Besides, New York City has ordinances against keeping sheep in our apartment."

"Och, well then, who needs New York?" he scoffed. "Let's go, milseán . Let Daddy show you how good the rest of our lives together can be."

Giving him one last hug, she finally made herself let go. "I'm ready, Daddy. Take me home."

"Always," he rumbled, taking her by the hand just like a Daddy should. They were halfway to the door when he added, "We'll have to come back in the morning, though. I need to pick up my paintings."

Her head snapped up. She stared at him with big eyes. " Your paintings?"

"Damn right, mine," he chuckled, half amused, half appalled. "I'm practically making love to you on the flyboard! What were you thinking? Only wall that thing's hanging on damn well better be mine. Lord, and the bath? You're in naught but your skin, woman!"

"It's all shadow!" she protested, grinning. "You can't see anything."

"I see plenty," he countered, leading her to the door. "No one gets to see that but me, you ken?"

His hand dropped from hers, giving her bottom a subtle swat that Chloe had no doubt everyone behind them saw. She didn't care, that thrilling warning was for her and her alone.

"Yes, Daddy," she giggled, loving it. Loving him.

Together, they went home.