Read Online Sullivan's Woman by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page B

returning to them that way.
    â€œHey, Cassidy.” Jeff Mullans stuck his friendly, red-bearded face through her door. “Got a minute?”
    Because he was her neighbor and she was fond of him, Cassidy pushed away the urge to sigh and smiled instead. “Sure.”
    He eased himself, a guitar, and a six-pack of beer through the door. “Can I put some stuff in your fridge? Mine’s busted again. It’s like the Mojave Desert in there.”
    â€œGo ahead.” Cassidy spun her chair until she faced him, then quirked her brow. “I see you brought all your valuables. I didn’t know your six-string needed refrigeration.”
    â€œJust the six-pack,” he countered with a grin as he marched back into her tiny kitchen. “And you’re the only one in the building I’d trust with it. Wow, Cassidy, don’t you believe in real food? All that’s in here’s a quart of juice, two carrots, and half a stick of oleo.”
    â€œIs nothing sacred?”
    â€œCome next door and I’ll fix you up with a decent meal.” Jeff came back into the room holding only his guitar. “I got tacos and stale doughnuts. Jelly-filled.”
    â€œIt sounds marvelous, but I really have to finish this chapter.”
    Jeff’s fingers pawed at his beard. “Don’t know what you’re missing. Heard anything from New York?” After glancing at the papers scattered over her desk, he settled Indian-fashion on the floor. He cradled his guitar in his lap.
    â€œThere seems to be a conspiracy of silence on the East Coast.” Cassidy sighed, shrugged, and tucked up her feet. “It’s early days yet, I know, but patience isn’t my strong suit.”
    â€œYou’ll make it, Cassidy, you’ve got something.” He began to strum idly as he spoke. His music was simple and soothing. “Something that makes the people you write about important. If your novel is as good as that magazine story, you’re on your way.”
    Cassidy smiled, touched by the easy sincerity of the compliment. “You wouldn’t like to apply for a job as an editor in a New York publishing house, would you?”
    â€œYou don’t need me, babe.” He grinned and shook back his red hair. “Besides, I’m an up-and-coming songwriter and star performer.”
    â€œI’ve heard that.” Cassidy leaned back in her chair. It occurred to her suddenly that Colin might like to paint Jeff Mullans. He’d be the perfect subject for him—the blinding red hair and beard, the soft contrast of gray eyes, the loving way the long hands caressed the guitar as he sat on her wicker rug. Yes, Colin would paint him precisely like this, she decided, in faded, frayed jeans with a polished guitar on his lap.
    â€œCassidy?”
    â€œSorry, I took a side trip. Have you got any gigs lined up?”
    â€œTwo next week. What about your gig with the artist?” Jeff tightened his bass string fractionally, tested it, then continued to play. “I’ve seen his stuff . . . some of it, anyway. It’s incredible.” He tilted his head when he smiled at her. “How does it feel to be put on canvas by one of the new masters?”
    â€œIt’s an odd feeling, Jeff. I’ve tried to pin it down, but . . .” She trailed off and brought her knees up, resting her heels on the edge of the chair. “I’m never certain it’s me he’s seeing when he’s working. I’m not certain I’ll see myself in the finished portrait.” She frowned, then shrugged it away. “Maybe he’s only using part of me, the way I use parts of people I’ve met in characterizations.”
    â€œWhat’s he like?” Jeff asked, watching her eyes drift with her thoughts. The glow of her desk lamp threw an aura around her head.
    â€œHe’s fascinating,” she murmured, all but forgetting she was speaking aloud.