A Priceless Find

  He walked Chelsea to her apartment but avoided kissing her good-night, regardless of how much he’d wanted to.

  At home, Sam went straight to bed, however sleep eluded him. He stared up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

  He couldn’t get the images of Chelsea with Jason and Emily out of his mind. The kids seemed to sense that she loved them, because they kept gravitating to her the entire evening.

  Katherine had been like that, too. If things had turned out differently, Nicolas would’ve been just a few years younger than Jason.

  Sam squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t matter how much time passed. The pain of loss might have become almost bearable, but it hadn’t gone away.

  Seeing Chelsea this evening had made him think. More than that, it had made him yearn for something he hadn’t yearned for in a long time. Something he couldn’t have.

  Family.

  There was no question he was falling for Chelsea. He’d liked her from the first time he’d met her, but wasn’t it ironic that seeing her with her friends’ kids—the very thing he couldn’t give a woman—had made him realize that he could lose his heart to her. He owed it to her to let her know about himself...and his background.

  No point procrastinating. He’d tell her the next chance he got.

  Despite recognizing how he felt about Chelsea, it was Katherine and Nicolas on his mind as he finally drifted into a restless sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SAM CALLED CHELSEA at work on Monday and made a date to take her to lunch.

  “I’m so glad you could meet Paige, Daniel, Jason, Emily and all the rest of my friends,” Chelsea said as they sat in a booth at a nearby diner.

  “I enjoyed meeting them.”

  “Aren’t they terrific? And you wouldn’t believe the change in Mr. Weatherly since he married Laura. He’s proof that people should never say never. He was a confirmed bachelor before he met her.” Her eyes were steady on his and shone with sincerity. “I’m confident there’s that one special person out there for everyone. For Mr. Weatherly, it’s Laura. You just never know when you’re going to meet that person.”

  If that wasn’t the opening Sam was searching for, he didn’t know what was. “Chelsea, you’re a very special person. You have so much to offer. I should have told you this sooner, but the timing wasn’t right.”

  Chelsea’s eyes turned misty, and her smile was soft and sweet as she reached for Sam’s hand. “When it feels right is the right time.”

  Belatedly, Sam realized he’d gone about it all wrong. His preamble had misled her, perhaps understandably. “What I meant to say...”

  The anticipation in her eyes made him want to groan. He’d better get it all out before he inadvertently set her up for a bigger fall. “Chelsea, I was married.”

  Her smile faded and her hands tensed but she didn’t pull them away. “You were married?” she echoed. “For how long?”

  “Nearly six years.”

  “Oh...”

  “We got divorced years ago, but we had a son.”

  Now she did pull her hands back. “How...how old is he?”

  Her voice sounded hollow. He could tell she was trying to process what he’d said, since it wasn’t what she’d expected. “We lost Nicolas when he was one.”

  Conflicting emotions played across her face, until compassion won out over shock. She reached for his hands again. “I’m so very sorry, Sam. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure there are words for something like this. I know it’s ineffectual, but I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Thank you.” He had no idea what else to say, either. Never had.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Her voice was gentle. Caring. Not accusatory.

  He shrugged. “It’s a painful part of my past and I don’t talk about it much.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what happened? Unless you don’t want to talk about it,” she added hurriedly.

  “That’s okay. It happened years ago.” Not that it made any difference to him. “Katherine, my ex-wife, and I...” he began. “We started dating in high school and eventually got married.” He knew that some of what he was going to say would hurt Chelsea, but he had to get it out. It was only fair. “We were deeply in love and were thrilled when Katherine became pregnant two years into our marriage. We agreed that we wanted a family, and we were glad to be starting early. When Nicolas was born...” He paused to take a drink of water. “When he was born, he was happy, beautiful, exuberant.” Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Katherine and I were over-the-moon happy. Our world couldn’t have been brighter.

  “But in just a few months, Nicolas began to show some concerning symptoms. We got him the best medical care possible, but Nicolas...he never celebrated his second birthday. He passed away of spinal muscular atrophy.”

  Chelsea had tears coursing down her face. “I’m so very sorry...” she whispered. “How horrible for you. For both of you.”

  He nodded and tried to swallow the constriction clogging his throat. “With Nicolas’s passing, our relationship changed. Subtly at first and then more dramatically. Instead of turning to me in her grief, Katherine became progressively more withdrawn, until she announced one day that she was leaving me. She claimed she still loved me, but said I was a constant reminder of little Nicolas, our loss, and she couldn’t endure it anymore.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Did you consider having another child?”

  Sam shook his head sadly. “Katherine and I were both diagnosed as carriers of the recessive gene that resulted in Nicolas’s illness.” What he didn’t say was that even if he married a woman who tested negative for the condition, he could still pass on the defective gene to their child. After what he and Katherine had gone through with poor little Nicolas, he wasn’t prepared to risk that, and had resolved a long time ago that he would never have children of his own again.

  Neither one of them said much for a while, and they both had to get back to their jobs. He paid the bill for their lunch and walked her to her car.

  Chelsea’s eyes were still shining when she rested her palms on his forearms. “I’m so sorry for what you had to go through. I’m really sorry.” Rising on her toes, she placed her lips briefly on his. When he didn’t pull away, she kissed him again, lingering over it this time.

  She said goodbye, got into her Honda and was gone before he’d even taken a step.

  Climbing into his own car, he started the engine to get the heater going but didn’t put the transmission in gear.

  Telling her about Kathryn, Nicolas and his own condition had been the right thing to do.

  But now that he had, where did it leave them?

  He could see how much Chelsea loved kids and what a terrific mother she’d make. She’d been open about wanting her own children.

  Seeing her with Jason and Emily, he couldn’t blame her one bit.

  Sam was afraid that if his feelings for Chelsea continued to grow, somewhere along the way, he’d face a decision that he knew would leave him brokenhearted. He was anguished by the hurt he’d inflict on Chelsea as well, regardless of the fact that it was in her best interests.

  He rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes.

  Should he continue seeing Chelsea but keep the relationship casual to ensure that neither of them would plan on a long-term commitment? A commitment which, to his way of thinking, would naturally lead to marriage and, in her mind, children.

  Or should he end the relationship, despite his growing feelings for her, freeing her to find a man who could give her the children she longed for?

  Either choice was a no-win, and he wasn’t ready to contemplate that decision yet.

  The churning her kiss had caused in his stomach told him he was already in deep.

  * * *

&nbs
p; CHELSEA SENSED A change in Sam.

  She attributed it to the mounting pressures of his job. There was no progress on the investigation of the robbery at All That Glitters and Shines, and she knew that frustrated Sam and added to his heavy workload.

  He’d called her the day after they’d had lunch to apologize for dumping his history on her and to let her know how much he appreciated her listening to him.

  Thankfully, her own job kept her so busy she didn’t have much time to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t heard from him since and wondered why. Ridley’s had taken another careful look at the Babineux and submitted a letter, through their lawyer, categorically denying that the painting they’d just seen was the same one they’d originally authenticated. They provided copies of all their work product and maintained adamantly that it was a replica. The allegation, though not explicitly stated, was that someone had switched the paintings.

  Joel had his hands full managing the industry and media fallout. He was doing the best he could, but the news was spreading and having an impact on the volume of sales. Oddly, they had more walk-ins. As sales volume declined, Chelsea concluded that they were mostly gawkers, wanting the thrill of seeing the “scene of the crime.”

  Mrs. Sinclair was spending more hours at the gallery than Chelsea could remember her doing in the past. Understandable, in her opinion, since it was Mrs. Sinclair’s and her gallery’s reputation at stake. For the first time since she’d known Mrs. Sinclair, Chelsea thought that she looked her age. She was also seeing a different aspect of her personality. Previously comfortable delegating responsibly to Mr. Hadley, she was now taking charge with a tenacity Chelsea wouldn’t have expected her capable of. She might have looked her age, but her energy seemed to have increased.

  When Mrs. Sinclair wasn’t occupied at the gallery, she would disappear for long stretches of time. Tina mentioned to Chelsea that she’d seen her going into All That Glitters and Shines on more than one occasion. Chelsea rationalized that Mrs. Sinclair’s dear friends, the Rochesters, brought her comfort, since she came back after her absences reinvigorated and with a sense of purpose.

  Under the circumstances, the theft of the Babineux had to be reported to the police. It didn’t surprise Chelsea to learn that Sam was chosen to lead the investigation.

  He called her to explain that since he’d been assigned the Babineux case, it might be a while before he could see her again.

  Her disappointment had been acute, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  After the initial flurry of activity, with the decline in sales, and without a personal life to speak of, Chelsea had additional time to educate herself about the gallery’s operations. The situation with the Babineux added to her resolve to learn about authentication and valuation, and not just because of her hope of becoming curator one day. She appreciated more than ever the importance of these aspects of the business.

  In the days that passed, she hadn’t seen Mr. Anderson at the gallery. Fortunately, Mr. Hadley hadn’t asked her to repay the commission on the Babineux. They’d agreed that her future commissions would be used to offset the amount until they were even.

  Although Chelsea, Deborah and Tina weren’t nearly as occupied because of the decrease in business, Mr. Hadley seemed busier than ever, working to reestablish credibility and industry confidence in the Sinclair Gallery, along with Joel and Mrs. Sinclair. He was out at meetings more than he was at the gallery.

  On a particularly slow day, Chelsea sat in her office reviewing the financial statements. She was self-aware enough to admit that numbers weren’t her strength. Still, she was interested in learning about every facet of the gallery’s operations. That included bookkeeping. As curator, she’d have to understand the financial aspects of the business, and be accountable to Mrs. Sinclair for profit and loss. Of all the areas she’d been learning about—from media and public relations to valuation and acquisition—the number crunching was the most challenging for her.

  She was struggling to understand the balance sheet when she’d much rather have been out front selling art to affect the bottom line. Well, at least she was getting the hang of the terminology.

  She was so absorbed in studying the columns of numbers, she jolted when Mr. Hadley called her from the doorway.

  She glanced up, but it wasn’t Mr. Hadley who drew her attention. Sam was standing beside the curator.

  She hadn’t seen him since they’d had lunch together, and she felt a flutter in her belly at the sight of him now.

  “Chelsea, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Detective Eldridge stopped by to see us about the Babineux. He wants to speak to each of us individually.”

  “Oh, sure.” She put her laptop in sleep mode, rose and tugged her short leather skirt downward in what she hoped was an inconspicuous manner. She gestured to a chair at the small round meeting table in the corner. It was less formal than having her behind the desk and Sam in front of it. It was disconcerting enough seeing him again—and in an official capacity—after the kiss she’d given him the last time she’d said goodbye.

  “Have a seat, please,” Chelsea offered. Wow, was this ever uncomfortable!

  As she walked over to join him, she realized her palms were damp. Nervous was not the impression she wanted to make, since he was here to see her because of an active police investigation.

  Thankfully, he lowered his tall, muscular frame into the chair she’d indicated, taking the decision of whether she should shake hands with him away from her. “Can I get you a coffee? Some water?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” His eyes were kind, and she felt he was trying to put her at ease. But being interviewed by the police, regardless of how she felt about the detective doing it, was not something she could take lightly or be relaxed about.

  She pulled out the chair opposite Sam and sat, too. Linking her fingers to keep from fidgeting, she placed her hands on her lap.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder, presumably to satisfy himself that Mr. Hadley had closed the door behind him. “Chelsea, I’m sorry about this. I know it must feel awkward for you. Heck, it’s awkward for me, but we have a serious matter to deal with. I have to interview you, the same as I do everyone else who works here.”

  She nodded. “I understand.” But did she? Was she being considered a possible suspect or did he just need to gather background information? As much as she longed to, she couldn’t ask him. She didn’t want to put him on the spot, or unnerve herself even more, if his answer didn’t alleviate her concerns.

  Sam ran her through a series of questions. Some of them they’d already talked about, but now it was on the record. He asked her about gallery procedures, security and so forth. Chelsea tried desperately to remember what she’d told him before to make sure she didn’t inadvertently contradict herself. She wouldn’t lie intentionally, but what if she said something different because she was uncertain? Or nervous?

  “Chelsea?”

  “Sorry. What?” She’d been so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she’d stopped paying attention to Sam.

  “I asked if you could tell me about your colleagues, and if any of them might have contact with a person capable of forging the painting.”

  The idea that one of them might have stolen the original Babineux was appalling. She knew and liked them all. “I don’t think any of them could have done this.”

  His bold blue eyes searched her face. “That wasn’t my question, but let’s leave it for now. What about Mrs. Sinclair, then?”

  “Oh, gosh, no! She’s a sweet lady and loves the gallery. No, lives for it is more accurate.”

  He leaned forward. “Chelsea, there was no break-in. No alarms tripped. No video footage of anyone switching the painting. That might mean it was an inside job and the person responsible knew what he or she was doing to circumvent the security system and get away with it undetected.”
r />   Chelsea sucked in a breath and raised her hands. “Sam, I’m sorry, but I really can’t see anyone here doing that. If I knew anything that I thought would be helpful, I’d tell you.”

  “Okay. Let’s try this. Do you know if anyone who works here has recently run into family or financial issues? A significantly ill relative? A debt they incurred that they don’t have the means to repay?”

  Chelsea thought about the commission she couldn’t refund but understood that wasn’t what Sam was concerned with. Besides, it was a paltry sum compared with what they were talking about. As for the others? Mr. Hadley’s sister had a health issue, but she lived in London and Chelsea hadn’t heard anything to imply it was that serious. “No. I really don’t know of anything like that.”

  Sam sighed. “All right, Chelsea.” He rose and she did the same. “I’m sorry to put you through this. We’re dealing with a felony. The value of the painting makes it grand theft.” He briefly touched her upper arm. “Please contact me if you remember anything that might be relevant. Never mind how insignificant you might think it is. Okay?”

  Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

  He stood watching her for a long moment. “Chelsea, I want you to know how much I enjoyed being with you...but it’s not a good idea for us to see each other personally until I have this case wrapped up.” He walked to the door. When he turned back to her, his eyes looked sad.

  Chelsea took an uncertain step forward. She tried not to think of how much she’d started to like him, and the question she hadn’t wanted to ask earlier tumbled out. “You believe I might have done this? Am I a suspect?” The chill she felt had her wrapping her arms around herself.

  She could see he was having a silent debate with himself. “No, I don’t. But this is a significant occurrence in our town. Perceptions can be harmful. I need to be unbiased and seen to be unbiased.”

  Eyes wide, she nodded, but couldn’t find any words as she watched Sam walk out her office door.