"I thought that was against camp rules, even when we're off duty.-"

"Sometimes I have this overwhelming need to break a rule or two just to prove to myself I'm still me."

"Okay then." She let her breath out in an audible rush. "Wine does sound pretty good right now."

"Then you stay." He held a hand up, palm out. "Stay."

"I'm not a dog." She laughed.

"I mean it. Stay."

She smiled and patted her heart as she watched him go. Oh my. As if she didn't have enough going on to make her pulse jump, he looked insanely handsome tonight in black slacks, a dark purple shirt, and a silver bolo tie. The color of the shirt made his skin look darker, his hair blacker, his eyes a deeper brown.

He was every inch the modern-day equivalent of an Indian warrior. Heat rushed through her at the thought that he might be back in her bed soon. Where things went from there… Well, she'd just have to wait and see.

Chapter 16

With all the people milling around the catering table, getting drinks took longer than Joe expected. He exchanged a few words with art collectors he'd met at other shows, then bumped into another couple who had children at the camp. The latter presented a minor problem. He didn't know if they knew about the no-drinking rule, but he wasn't about to take any chances.

He waited until they'd moved on, located the Coltons talking to his mother with their backs to him, and slid two soft drink cups to the bartender.

At last, he had two cups of white wine in hand and was making his way back toward Maddy. If all went well this evening, they'd move from simply speaking to really talking.

His stomach tightened at the thought, though. Why did relationships require so much talking? Women were supposed to be intuitive. Couldn't they figure out what was going on inside a guy without him having to say it out loud?

Although some guys, like Derrick, didn't seem to have a problem verbalizing, even when it came to really personal stuff. Maybe he could start with something impersonal, keeping it light and friendly. Then later, before leaving, he'd ask if he could come to the Craft Shack after the show so they could talk, since the middle of a crowded gallery was not the place for a serious conversation.

From several feet away, he saw Maddy listening to a tall, willowy woman who seemed to be admiring one of her pieces. Good, he and Maddy would have a buffer to get them through the next few minutes. As he drew closer, though, he noticed two things. The woman didn't look like a collector. She looked like an artist dressed in kitschy Goth attire, and Maddy's eyes were frantic.

He quickened his pace, coming up on them just as the woman turned and walked away. He looked from the retreating back to Maddy, who stood frozen and pale.

"Okay," he said, "mind telling me what that was about?"

She closed her eyes for a full three seconds, then opened them. "Nothing."

"Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not. Is that for me?" She took one of the cups from him and smiled at an approaching couple. When the couple moved past, she downed half her wine in two big gulps.

"Give me that." He snagged the cup.

"Hey!" She scowled at him as she wiped a drop from her chin.

He held the cup away. "Tell me what upset you."

She scanned the crowded area and spoke through stiff lips. "This isn't the place to discuss it."

He narrowed his eyes in irritation. No matter how carefully he planned things out, Maddy always threw in a monkey wrench. "Fine." He set both cups down on a pedestal, at the feet of a bronze bear, took her hand, and started walking. The deal with plans, though, is they had to stay fluid.

"Joe." She gasped, but resisted for only a second.

He spotted the door to the back room and headed in that direction.

"Juanita," he said as they passed the showroom manager. "Can you cover Maddy's area for a while?"

"Uh, certainly." She frowned at him.

Without a qualm, he went right through the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and closed it behind him. A quick glance around revealed a dark, cavernous space filled with the scent of wood glue and sawdust. Faint light from outside spilled through barred windows, casting striped shadows onto worktables and equipment.

"Jo-oe." Maddy jerked her hand out of his grasp, drawing his attention back to her. Scowling up at him, she rubbed her hand. "You've got to stop hauling me around."

"Did I hurt you?" He frowned at the thought.

"No." She dropped her hand to her hips. "But that's twice tonight you've done it. Next time you want me to move from point A to point B, do you think you could ask?"

"I could. But since you'd probably argue, my way's quicker."

"Well, silly me for thinking the human race had progressed past the caveman stage." She tossed her head in indignation, her eyes shining in the dim light. "I guess I'm lucky you don't knock me over my head and haul me about by my hair."

A smile spread over his face. "God, you look good tonight."

"What?" That drew her up short for a second. "Oh. Thank you. But I repeat, next time ask?'

"Check. Now"-he settled the small of his back against one of the tables-"tell me what the bitch in black said to upset you."

"She's not a bitch." Maddy sighed, suddenly deflated. "She's just… understandably irritated."

"About…?"

"We've been over this. I've barely arrived in Santa Fe and I'm already in a big show, everybody's raving about my work, and I'm going to have prints in an art catalog."

"So, she's jealous." He nodded. "Got that. Now, what'd she say?"

"She has a right to be jealous. It doesn't seem fair that she's been here for two years, working hard to get a break. She has some pieces in a small gallery, but she'd clearly give her eyeteeth to be featured in a show of this magnitude. What right do I have to swoop into town and steal her dream?"

"You're not stealing anyone's dream." Going with impulse, he reached out and took her hand as a compromise to pulling her to him for a hug. Even that small contact felt good, though. A warm intertwining of fingers. "Just because one artist makes it big doesn't mean another one can't. Although maybe she doesn't have what it takes and you do. Have you stopped to consider that?"

"It still doesn't seem fair."

"God." He chuckled. "You're such a woman."

Fire snapped into her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean!"

"It wasn't an insult." He swallowed his amuse-merit. "Women always want everyone to win so no one gets their feelings hurt. Well, sorry, life doesn't work that way. It's like Ranger school. My class started out with nearly four hundred guys, all of whom thought they wanted it-until they found out how tough it was going to be. About half of them washed out the first day, it's that hard. Less than one hundred made it all the way to the end, because desire alone isn't enough. You have to have ability and conviction. That's why making the Rangers was one of the biggest highs of my life."

"But that's my point. You had to work to earn it. What did I do to earn this?"

He studied her, realizing she was serious. "Those pieces of art out there didn't create themselves."

She shrugged. "Well, no, but-"

"No buts. You've spent years developing a God-given talent, and you've spent the last few weeks working your tail off to produce enough work for this show. So, it's not like life just handed this to you. You earned it."

"I guess. I still feel bad for her."

"The bitch?"

"She's not a bitch."

"Tell me what she said, and I'll decide."

"It's not important."

"Mad-dy…" He lifted an eyebrow in warning.

"Oh, all right. She said, 'Yes, well, you do have a very… colorful style. I can see why Sylvia wants to do prints. They should be very popular with decorators' Can you believe that?" The indignation he'd been looking for broke free. "She called my work decorator art! An artist never says something like that to another artist. Well, unless the other artist is actually trying to produce decorator art- which is okay. There's nothing wrong with mass production to make a living, but in a situation like this, it's the ultimate insult. She's saying my work doesn't belong in a gallery. It belongs hanging over hotel beds, chosen solely on the merit of the colors matching the draperies."

"Yep." Joe nodded. "She's a bitch."

"She is not! She's just frustrated. But that doesn't make her a bitch."

"No, but she said something specifically designed to hurt you, and that makes her a bitch. Now admit it. Say 'she's a bitch.' "

Maddy hedged. "She could be a nice person."

"Say it. B-I-T-C-H. Bitch."

She clamped her mouth shut with her lips tucked between her teeth.

He straightened to his full height, towering over her. "Am I going to have to tickle it out of you?"

"Ah!" She jumped back with hands raised to ward him off. "Don't you dare!"

"Then say it." He took a threatening step forward.

She dashed around to the far side of the* table, where she stopped to face him. "I won't."

"Now this is interesting." Something primal sparked inside him at the thought of chasing her. "You do realize you can't possibly escape if I decide to catch you."

She raised her stubborn chin. "Wanna bet?"

"Is that a challenge?" He raised a brow as arousal stirred.

She looked left, then right. He waited for her to pick her direction. "Maddy"-he dropped his voice purely for effect-"I'm bigger than you. I'm faster than you. I promise, I will catch you."

An answering excitement lit her eyes an instant before she feinted left, then took off to the right.