Page 23 of Bad Luck Club

“That’s entirely up to you, Lee,” she said, turning a corner. “Life is too short to be unhappy. You need to figure out where you belong and what you want to do.” She snuck a glance at him. “And sometimes we need to find things to occupy us in the interim.”

Pulling the car up to the curb next to a house surrounded by a white picket fence that also encompassed a large, wooded lot, she put the car in park. “Here we are. This will only take a moment, but I might need you to carry some paintings out to the car.”

“Sure.” He unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the door handle.

“Just keep an open mind,” she said, then got out of the car.

He didn’t like the sound of that.

He followed her through the gate and toward a grove of trees. An animal’s bleating caught his attention. “Was that a goat?”

Dottie ignored him and kept walking.

Horror flooded his veins, and he stopped short. “We’re at that goat lady’s house, aren’t we?”

Turning back to him, she gave him a disapproving look. “What did I say about labeling?” Then she called out, “Stella? Are you back here?”

“I’m in the gazebo,” the older woman called out. “Come join me.”

Dottie disappeared through the trees. Lee strongly considered waiting for her by the car, but it was pretty clear the paintings they’d come to pick up were down there with Stella.

Great.

One of her paintings hung in the dining room of the Buchanan house, and he had to look at it every morning when he sat down with his coffee. It was a portrait of a buck-naked Lurch, who apparently had some kind of off-and-on relationship with Stella. Adalia had painted a fig leaf over the guy’s junk, but still, it was about eighty percent more of Lurch than Lee was comfortable seeing. Make that one hundred. Given that the other subject of the painting was a now-dead goose (Stella had apparently tried to serve him for Thanksgiving dinner), he’d tried to convince Adalia to take it down, but she staunchly refused. Something told him part of the reason she was so adamant about keeping it up was because she found it funny how much it annoyed him.

Groaning, he followed Dottie into the trees, pushing through the thick brush to a clearing that surrounded a gazebo. Stella stood in the middle in front of an easel supporting a half-finished painting of a goat and a donkey. The donkey looked like it had a red lipstick kiss on its forehead, and its front hoof was planted on the forehead of the goat. The smaller animal lay in a puddle.

“Is that blood?” he mumbled.

Stella spun at the waist to look at him. She held a paintbrush in her hand, the bristles covered with red paint. “Dottie, you naughty girl. You didn’t say you brought me a present.”

Lee’s eyes widened.

“He’s not a present,” Dottie said, waving her hand like Stella had said the most ridiculous thing. “He’s here to help me with your paintings.”

“There’s nothing that says he can’t be both.”

“Ican say I’m not both,” Lee protested. He’d encountered her at Georgie’s engagement party, and the older woman had tried to get him naked, even though Lurch and her other male friend had been with her at the time. Or so he thought. He’d been extremely drunk, and his memory was hazy. His siblings and their significant others weren’t much help. Their stories grew with every telling, so much so that Lee suspected no more than ten percent of it was true. Or at least he hoped so.

Stella took several steps toward him. “Now, don’t be so hasty.”

“I’m so excited you had enough work to contribute to the showing at Harvest Gallery tomorrow night at the last minute,” Dottie said. “Your message needs to be shared with the world.”

“It’s a shame that young man had an accident so close to the show. Wet concrete floors can be quite slippery,” Stella said, then glanced at Lee and winked.

Horror ripped through him again. Had she had something to do with the man’s accident?

“Yes,” Dottie said with a grave expression. “But thegoodnews is that he should be able to walk again in a few months.”

Stella’s lips pursed as her eyes lit up.

Oh, dear God. She had.

Stella’s brows lifted, and she eyed Lee like he was the last Christmas duck—or goose, as the case may be—with a bow tied around his neck. “Are you going to the exhibit?”

“Me?” Lee asked, then scoffed, “No.”

Stella took a step closer. “Don’t be silly. You should join us at the show, and then we can all come back to my place to unwind.”

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