The Lottery Winner

She’d never sold a painting and couldn’t believe anyone would want to pay good money for one. “I guess...I might.”

“The same paintings have hung in Miri’s restaurant for as long as I can remember. They’re dated and faded. We could swap some of her old art with yours and market these to tourists. I’m sure you’ve seen similar setups in other restaurants with discreet price tags nearby.”

She struggled for words and found none. As a child she’d dreamed of becoming an artist, but once she’d reached college her father had said, “Choose a steady, reliable career that pays the bills and comes with benefits. Artists starve.” She’d compromised and decided to teach art. Teaching gave her an opportunity to instill her passion for creativity in others. Between the hours she taught and those spent preparing for each class, she’d had little time to pursue many personal projects until she’d been banished to the Keys. Now all she had was time.

The interest in her work was shocking, but doubly so from Logan Nash. “Why are you being nice when you’ve been nothing but confrontational up until now?”

“Because fresh art might bring more business to the Widow.”

“Miri already has more traffic than three waitresses can handle.”

“The staff shortage is a temporary situation.”

Fear battled eagerness. “I wouldn’t know how to price them.”

“I do.”

His offer sounded too good to be true. “What’s your take?”

“My take? You mean like a commission? Nothing. And I doubt Miri will want one, either. But none of these are signed. Sign this one.” He pointed to her favorite Key deer picture. “Bring it to work tonight.”

Her heart beat double time. She bit her lip, dug her toes into the plush rug and searched his face. He looked sincere, and she really wanted to believe his compliments. She was tempted—so very tempted—to test her fledgling artist’s wings.

What would her father and Brandon say? She ached to call and ask their advice. But she couldn’t. Telling them about this opportunity meant telling them about her job—something they definitely wouldn’t approve of.

“Jessie, at least show this one to Miri. If she doesn’t agree that your work could be an asset to the Widow, then you’ve lost nothing.”

Except her pride. Logan had gotten her hopes up. How would she feel if no one wanted it? She had to take the chance or forever regret it. “Okay.”

He nodded. “See you in a few hours.”

She walked him out then caught herself checking out his broad shoulders and strong back as he descended the stairs. She shut the door a little harder than necessary and locked it, then pressed a hand over her pounding heart. She didn’t release her pent-up breath until he’d boarded his boat and driven away.

Logan liked her work. Someone outside her family actually liked her work. What’s more, he thought that others might, too. Joy and pride bubbled inside her. She danced in place, then sobered.

Putting herself out there meant possible criticism. Could she handle it? Then again, if this venture was a total flop, her family and friends—if she had any left after the lottery debacle—would never have to know. She’d go back to real life and leave her childish dream of becoming an artist behind forever.

* * *

WHEN THE KITCHEN door swung open, Miri checked the clock. The restaurant didn’t open for two hours. But instead of one of the kitchen staff, Logan’s investigator walked in. Ignatius was the last person she wanted to see.

“He’s not here,” she told him and experienced a twinge of shame at her nasty tone. Being a business owner meant being polite to everyone—even parasites. That was especially true in Key West. As cosmopolitan as the city seemed, it was truly a small community.

“I’m not here to see Logan. I’m here to see you.”

Suspicion trickled through her like water through a cracked levee. “Why?”

He removed his ball cap, revealing a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, and shifted on his feet. The big goofball looked so uncomfortable, her protest that the public wasn’t allowed in her kitchen stayed locked behind her clenched teeth.

“Today’s my daughter’s birthday. She and her girls are meeting me here for dinner tonight. I need it to be...special.”

Not even close to what she’d expected him to say. “I appreciate your business. I’ll do my best to resist the urge to poison you.”

“No. You don’t...” He hadn’t laughed. Had she expected him to? “I’m not explaining this well. Bethany and I... We don’t... We’re not close.”

That wasn’t a surprise. “What did you do to piss her off, Ignatius?”

“Don’t call me that. It reminds me of Catholic school.”

“It’s your name. I is only a letter. What did you do to turn your daughter against you?” she pressed.

His cheeks turned ruddy. “I wasn’t there for her and her mother when she was young. I worked all the time, trying to make detective. Then when Bethany was sixteen, Eileen split and moved down here. I couldn’t afford to come down more than once a year, so I didn’t get to see my daughter or granddaughters much. Other than birthday and Christmas cards and social media, we don’t communicate.”

“Why try to change that now?”

“Because Sydney and Chloe are the spittin’ image of their mama, and when I see their pictures online I realize how much I missed of Bethany’s childhood. I want a chance to do right by those girls.”

Sympathy surged like a storm tide inside Miri. She wished Logan’s father would have a similar revelation before it was too late. “How old are they?”

“Ten and twelve.”

She gave him bonus points for knowing their ages. “Have you bought your daughter a present?”

“Yeah.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a small, unwrapped jewelry box and shoved it toward her. “Just picked it up.”

She took it and lifted the lid. A gold heart necklace with three different-colored gemstones sparkled on the satin liner. The little tab said fourteen karat. It wasn’t junk.

“Those are Bethany and the girls’ birthstones,” he added. “I special ordered it.”

Kudos to him. He’d spent time and effort and had even planned ahead. She’d have expected him to just grab the closest thing—from the clearance rack, if his clothes were anything to go by. She snapped the box shut and handed it back. “She should like it.”

“Ya think?” He sounded so hopeful. Someone ought to tell him he was too old to have that puppy-dog look in his eyes.

“I think she will. What about a cake? Not that our desserts aren’t delicious, but a cake would be a personal touch.”

His dumbfounded expression gave her the answer. He hadn’t thought of that. Two of the kitchen staff came in. She greeted them then motioned Ignatius toward the dining room. She wanted him out of the sanctuary of her workspace.

“I have a friend who’s a baker. I’ll get something special from her. What’s Bethany’s favorite dessert?”

He shrugged, and his cheeks darkened again. “Does she hate anything?” Another shrug. “Allergies?” Same response. Miri sighed. She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for the guy or be angry with him for knowing nothing about his child. “Which birthday is it?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Not a milestone, then. I’ll put you in Jessie’s section. She has a way with our younger customers that’ll put the girls at ease. And I’ll seat you right over there.” She pointed at the table she usually reserved for honeymooners. “It’s quieter so you can talk, and you can see the fish on two sides. Your granddaughters won’t have to fight for the best seat.”

“I...thanks, Miri. I appreciate it.”

“Now I need a favor from you.”

“Name it.”

“Drop Logan’s case.”

His expression turned from gratitude to pugnacity in a blink. Probably his cop I’m-writing-you-a-ticket face. “If I do he’ll just hire somebody else.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear even if she suspected it was true. “He’s so focused on finding his ex-wife he won’t even date anyone else.”

Green eyes searched her face. “Have you dated anyone since your husband passed?”

Taken aback by the unexpected attack, she struggled for an answer. “We’re not talking about me.”

“You’re accusing the man of not moving on with his life. I’m just saying, you might want to look in the mirror.”

She straightened to her full height at the offensive remark and opened her mouth to tell him where to go. But then she spotted the bartender close enough to overhear. With tremendous effort, she reined in her temper. Having a business to run required her to mind her manners no matter the provocation. Word got around. She couldn’t afford to tell the fathead what she thought of his rotten psychoanalysis skills. Not here. Not now. But one day...

“Leave dinner to me. We’ve got you covered.”

“Thanks, Miri. I owe ya.”

“Yes. You do.”

Logan plowed through the kitchen door into the dining area like a man on a mission. His eyebrows jacked up when he saw Ignatius, but he didn’t slow until he was beside them.

“You look all nice and tanned. Did you take the morning off?” Miri asked him.

“I’ve been out on I’s boat. Did you know Jessie’s an artist?”

She struggled with the news that Logan and Ignatius knew each other well enough to share expensive toys, then the rest of his comment sank in. “And you know that how?”

“I saw her work. She’s very talented.”

Compliments after he’d been pressuring her to fire Jessie? Miri picked up a weird vibe. Logan might not be a teenager anymore, but she could still read him pretty well. “Where did you see her art?”

He glanced at the PI, confirming her suspicions that these two were in cahoots, then Logan met her gaze. “At her house.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Jessie had been very careful about not disclosing her address, and she and Logan didn’t get along. Jessie wouldn’t have shared that information with him.

“How do you know where she lives?” she pressed, suspecting she already knew the answer.

He paused. “I followed her home last night.”

“Logan Na—”

He flung up a hand. “She’s staying in a very expensive gated waterfront rental home. A place a waitress can’t afford on tips alone. If she’s into something illegal, I don’t want you caught in the web. Today I checked out her house from the water side and saw her painting on the dock.”

Shocked to hear her suspicions confirmed, she snapped, “Logan Chancellor Nash, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Then she remembered the bartender. Luckily, he’d gone to the back for stock.

“I’m protecting you.”

“By stalking my waitress?” she whispered then glared at Ignatius. “You used to be a cop. Tell him that’s illegal.”

“You peek in her windows?” Ignatius asked.

“Of course not.”

“You planning to harm her?”

“No.”

“She know you followed her?”

“No.”

Ignatius shrugged. “Not a problem then, as long as it doesn’t become a habit.”

Miri wanted to kick the infuriating idiot in the shin for encouraging her nephew. “It’s a problem for me!”

Logan ignored her outburst and turned to his friend. “I didn’t see anything suspicious. There were no signs of drug paraphernalia in her house, and no sign of other cars in the driveway. But how’s she paying for the place? Rich husband? Boyfriend? Lover? Selling drugs?”

“Valid questions,” Ignatius replied.

Miri poked a finger at Logan’s chest. “That’s none of your business. I’ve told you before, leave Jessie alone.”

Heaven help the poor girl if she discovered Logan’s actions. She was already spooked about someone or something.

“She didn’t know what I was really looking for when I asked to see more of her work. She invited me inside. I checked out most of the house,” he added for Ignatius.

“Being sneaky and devious doesn’t make it right, Logan.”

“I told her to bring one of her paintings here today to display and sell.”

Yet another sign of his presumption. “This is my restaurant. Don’t you think you should have consulted me first?” Not that she wouldn’t have helped Jessie if she’d known.

“When you see her work, you’ll want to replace every picture in this place.”

No, she wouldn’t. There were memories attached to each one. But she couldn’t say that, because it would only make Ignatius think he was right and that she hadn’t moved beyond her grief over losing Jack. “What hangs in my restaurant is still my decision.”

“Right. I told her you wouldn’t want a commission, but if her painting sells, then you could invite other local artists to display here and take a percentage of the sales price.”

No doubt her pigheaded nephew meant well. He was probably trying to replace her nest egg. He’d never accept that she didn’t blame him for his exes’ dirty work. But as long as she had enough money to keep a roof over her head and Sue in a job until they were both ready to retire, then she had enough.

“I swear, Logan, sometimes your heart’s in the right place, but your methodology is all wrong. Don’t help me anymore. Do you understand?”

“I hear you.”

But she knew he’d ignore her as he’d always done. He was one stubborn son of a gun. She only hoped he didn’t run Jessie off before she could help the girl—whatever her problems.

* * *

JESSIE TURNED THE corner onto Margaret Street, spotted Logan outside the Fisherman’s Widow and missed a step. She couldn’t get inside the restaurant without going past him.

Wind ruffled his dark hair and his white, rolled-sleeve button-down shirt accentuated his tan. He resembled one of the rich guys who frequented the yachts parked along the wharf. But she now knew what he looked like in nothing but swim trunks, and that was...a distraction that made her sketching hand twitchy.

She saw the exact second he spotted her, because his posture changed. Looking as alert as a hunter with its next meal in the crosshairs, he watched her cross the street. She covered the automatic urge to tug at the short hem of her uniform skort by blotting her damp palms on her hips. The encounter ahead wouldn’t be fun.

“Where’s the painting?” he demanded.

“I didn’t bring it.” The fire of excitement had fizzled soon after he roared off in his boat. Doubts about putting herself out there had dogged her as she showered and dressed for work. Then she’d realized his demand that she bring the painting wasn’t even about her.

His eyebrows lowered. “Why?”

“While your offer is generous and flattering, it’s Miri’s restaurant. I want to check with her first.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did she call you?”

“No. Why?”

“Never mind. She has to accept that the stuff on the walls needs replacing.”

“That’s your opinion. She might disagree.”

He strode to the door and yanked it open, motioning for Jessie to go first. He loomed behind her like a hovering hawk as she went to the kitchen in search of Miri. On the way, she checked out the current wall art—something she’d only done superficially before because she’d been too busy watching the patrons. Each piece was of good quality. But all needed some TLC.

Miri glanced up from the pie crust in front of her when they entered. Her rolling pin stilled.

“Tell her to bring her painting,” Logan demanded, and Miri’s expression turned uneasy.

Jessie gave Miri a sympathetic smile. “I thought Logan should ask why you’ve never replaced the ones you have.”

A tiny smile curved Miri’s lips. “Jack gave them to me. Each one commemorates a moment of our lives together.”

Jessie shot Logan an I-told-you-so look. “Her art has sentimental value. You can’t just discard it.”

Logan rocked his jaw back and forth. “I’m trying to update this place and make both of you some money.”

“I don’t want it at Miri’s expense.”

Miri laid a hand on Jessie’s forearm and gave her a squeeze. “You’re a dear and I love you for thinking of me, Jessie. But I want to help you. Truly, I do. And if you’re as good an artist as Logan says, this exposure could be good for you—even if I have to buy easels to display them. Please, bring your paintings.”

Miri’s encouragement fanned the ember Logan had lit. How could she make this a win-win situation? “I have an idea. Follow me.”

Jessie grabbed a clean rag, dampened a corner of it, then led them to the oil of one of Key West’s historic Victorian homes that hung behind the cash register. “Tell me about this one.”

Miri’s face softened. “That’s the bed-and-breakfast where Jack and I honeymooned. It’s the first piece of real art he bought me.”

“Then it definitely should stay. It’s a quality piece. But I’m guessing these have been here since the days when smoking was allowed inside restaurants?”

Miri nodded.

Jessie gently rubbed one side of the frame where it wouldn’t be visible to guests, then displayed the sooty residue for Miri to see. “All it needs to revive the original colors is a professional cleaning. I could hang one of mine while yours is out for restoration. I’ll help you find someone reputable to do the job, at minimal cost. It’ll come back as good as new.”

She knew how to do it because she’d interned at an estate auction house her senior year of high school, but she couldn’t volunteer to do the job without giving too much away.

Looking sad, Miri shook her head. “I never even noticed the grime. All I see is the memory. Thank you, Jessie. That’s a grand suggestion.”

“Miri, the alcohol delivery’s here,” one of the kitchen workers called.

Miri held up a finger. “Be right there. I’ll take this one down tonight after we close if you’ll bring one of yours in tomorrow morning for our weekend crowd to enjoy.”

Jessie’s heart quickened. “I’ll do it.”

Then Miri left Jessie alone with Logan’s blue gaze lasered on her. “How did you know about the soot?”

“My dad used to be a smoker.” True, but not the whole truth. “Excuse me. I need to set up for opening.”

“Why can’t we clean them?”

“Because restoration takes skill, patience and the right chemicals. Doing it wrong will irrevocably damage the work. The process varies with the condition of each piece and type of paint.”

When his eyes narrowed, she wanted to slap a hand over her mouth for revealing too much, but teaching was as natural to her as breathing. She made her escape before he could ask more and hoped Logan didn’t pick up her slip.

CHAPTER FOUR

JESSIE GRABBED THE tray of salads, turned and almost slammed into Sue. The older waitress blocked her path. “You do know who your birthday party guy is, right?”

“A friend of Logan’s?” She’d seen the man at the oyster bar with Miri’s nephew that first night. Miri clearly didn’t like him, so Jessie had kept her distance and she didn’t ask questions.

“He’s a private investigator who sometimes works for Logan.”

Invisible spiders climbed Jessie’s spine. Had Logan hired a PI to check up on her? “Why does Logan need a PI? I thought Miri said he was an accountant.”

“He is now, but he used to be a big-time financial adviser before his ex-wife and his ex–business partner ran off together. He was devastated by the betrayals of the two people he trusted most. Came here to lick his wounds, I suspect.”

No wonder Logan was so distrustful. “Thanks for the heads-up, Sue.”

“Just watching your back, sweetie. Us gals need to stick together.”

“Hush puppies,” called the cook, and Sue hustled off to get the sweet cornmeal appetizers while they were still hot.

As Jessie made her way across the dining room, she realized Miri and Sue must have discussed her. Approaching the table warily, Jessie noticed the unhappy faces. Logan’s PI nervously pleated his napkin. His daughter appeared resigned to a miserable meal, and the girls looked bored out of their minds. In her experience, bored kids created trouble. If Jessie didn’t intervene, they wouldn’t be here long enough to cut the beautiful cake Miri’s friend had delivered. She detoured by the hostess stand and grabbed a few items.

At their table she served the adults their salads, then set crayons and extra place mats beside each girl. She received identical you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me looks. “I know you’re too old to color a kids’ menu, but some of the fish swimming by the windows are too cool not to sketch.”

“I can’t draw,” the older girl grumbled mulishly.

“Sure you can.” Ignoring the folded arms and pouty bottom lip, Jessie tucked the empty tray under her arm and flipped a place mat to show its blank back.

“First, pick your fish. Then get his basic overall shape in your head. See if you can guess which one I’m drawing.” She used her order pen to draw an elliptical shape. “Then just add to it.” She filled in fins, eyes and a mouth. It was a fast, rough sketch, but good enough to identify which type of fish she’d chosen.

“That one!” the younger girl cried out, pointing.

“Right. You’ll be surprised how easy drawing something is once you break it down into its separate parts.”

“You’re pretty good,” the older girl said, showing interest.

“I’ve had a few years of practice. And you know the secret?” Jessie leaned down but whispered loud enough that both girls could hear. “Nobody starts out good.”

The younger girl grabbed a crayon and pointed it at a barracuda. “I’m drawing the long one. I like his teeth.”

“I’ll bring over more place mats if you run out.” Filled with satisfaction for the first time since her exile, Jessie looked up and caught the woman’s grateful smile, then the PI’s speculative gaze.

Nerves twisted her stomach. That was twice today that she’d unintentionally revealed something that could blow her cover, but her love of art—specifically, sharing it with children—was hard to suppress. She had to be more careful.

* * *

JESSIE GLANCED IN the rearview mirror and caught sight of the picture of the Key deer in the backseat of her rental car Friday morning. Another wave of guilt swamped her.

She’d started her morning with lying to her brother, and there was no way she could feel good about that. When he’d asked her plans for the day, she’d evaded the truth by telling him she was looking forward to painting No Name Key rather than confessing her excitement over displaying her first picture in public. It wasn’t a complete lie. She was eager to paint the island across the waterway and maybe even visit it to explore. But not today. Or tomorrow. Or even Sunday.

She worried during the entire drive south about displaying her work in such a public setting. It would be the first momentous occasion of her life that her family hadn’t been a part of, and if it blew up in her face, she’d have no one but herself to blame.

Her anxiety crested when the restaurant came into view. With any luck Logan would be at an office somewhere and not lurking at the Widow. The man had to work sometime, didn’t he? Heart in her throat, she turned into the small parking lot and parked beside Miri’s truck. After scanning the area, she extricated the canvas and headed for the building. So far, so good. No Logan.

As promised, Miri had left the side door unlocked for her. The dining room was empty, but Jessie heard the hum of conversation and the clank of pots in the kitchen. The wall behind the register was empty save a brass hanger protruding from the whitewashed bead board. She hefted the frame and positioned it over the hook. Then she stepped back to study the largest painting she’d done to date. The splash of colors looked good. Pride and excitement bubbled inside her. She ached to snap a picture, send it to her family and share the moment.

The canvas tilted slightly to the left. She reached to adjust it. A long arm stretched past her, and a big hand covered hers. Her heart lurched with panic. She ducked away and spun around, slamming her left elbow against the hostess stand. Pain shot to her fingertips. But it was only Logan, not some nameless assailant sneaking up on her. Darn her brother and his daily dire tales.

“You nearly scared me to death. Don’t you have a job you should be at?” How had he gotten so close without her hearing him? She cursed the sudden dryness of her mouth and wiggled her tingling digits. Hitting your funny bone was not at all funny.