Chapter 9

Leaving Rolley in charge of the gallery, Billie hopped on her bicycle and rode the short distance to Lorna’s house, Baxter trotting alongside her. Her fingers gripped the handlebars harder than they ever had before—not because she was scared of falling off, but because her whole body was tense with fury. And perhaps a smidgen of fear.

She still couldn’t believe the way Travis had turned from an easygoing, bloody good kisser into a near psychopath in a matter of minutes. She’d easily have believed that of the man she’d met three days ago, but not of the man who’d been almost sweet in Café Du Monde and then made her scream in ecstasy half the night. A traitorous shiver of pleasure zapped through her at the thought.

She had the worst taste in men, from the control freak of her ex to the bloodthirsty, vengeful reaction Travis had just displayed. What had she been thinking? Or rather what had her hormones been thinking? The wanton hussies had no scruples.

For a moment back there, she’d actually thought Travis was going to hit his mother. Of course at that stage she hadn’t known the familial connection—Lorna had never mentioned a son—but, whatever his reasons, his aggression had scared her. It had been so unexpected after the night they’d shared and the sweetness he’d shown her when he’d let down his guard.

She honestly didn’t know which side of Travis Sinclair was the true one. Was he a mean, emotionally messed-up loose cannon? Or was the Travis she’d slept with—the one he hid from the world—the real him? There was the distinct possibility he’d put on that sweet act simply to get inside her pants.

Argh. Her head ached from the confusion and she wanted to scream.

Part of her wanted to go after him and make him talk, demand he tell her why he’d lost it in her gallery, but another part of her didn’t think she should push him too far. He wasn’t the chatty type and after all, he did own her building. She needed to think about her business. No matter how she felt inside, she couldn’t afford to risk everything she’d built up here.

Hoping time and space would give Travis a chance to cool down, she’d chosen the safer option, a visit to Lorna instead. The woman had left without her money; Billie wanted to give it to her and also make sure that Lorna would continue exhibiting with her in spite of what had happened with Travis.

She propped her bike up against Lorna’s front fence and paused a moment to admire the elaborate designs and motifs that made the ironwork fence a thing of beauty. Honestly, until she’d come to New Orleans, she’d thought the fanciest fences were white picket, but they had nothing on the designs of the French Quarter. And it wasn’t just fences. The local architecture fascinated her. Lorna’s Creole cottage with its bright blue doors, orange window shutters and the jungle of mismatched flower baskets hanging from the roof awnings might not be as magnificent as some of the Quarter’s finer houses, but it made her heart glow just looking at it.

You could tell two artists lived here, and Billie had felt right at home the two times she’d visited before.

But admiring the aesthetics was not why she’d come here. Baxter joyfully went ahead of her up the short path and pushed open the screen door with his snout, not bothering to wait for Billie to knock, but she hung back, something akin to guilt making her a little queasy. What would Travis think if he knew she was with his mother right now? Her heart felt heavy at the thought, but then…

“Lorna, are you in there?” Billie hurried after the dog and called into the house. No man was going to control her anymore and if Travis had a problem with her doing business with one of her artists, well, that was his problem. He shouldn’t have stormed off.

Within a few seconds the older woman appeared. Her eyes were red and her cheeks blotchy; she’d obviously been crying. In fact as she came closer, Billie could still see dampness on her eyelashes. No matter that she’d been an addict, no matter what kind of mother she’d been to her son, her pain and remorse right now was obvious.

“Billie.” Lorna attempted a smile as she held the door open. “I’m so sorry for what happened in the gallery.”

Billie frowned. “Don’t be silly. You’re not the one who needs to apologize. I just came to check you’re okay.”

Lorna cocked her head to one side. “Do you know my son well?”

Heat flared within at just how well she knew Travis, but that wasn’t what Lorna meant. “No. I’ve known him all of three days. He told me he didn’t have any family and I never knew you had children, so…”

“You’d better come inside. I’ll make us some coffee.” Lorna smiled down at Baxter. “Come on, little guy.”

Billie wavered a moment. She’d only come to give Lorna her money, but she couldn’t leave the woman in such obvious distress. Together, Baxter and Billie followed Lorna down the hallway into a very homey kitchen. The last time Billie had been here, she’d admired the eclectic collection of art and other odds and ends that lined Lorna and her partner’s walls and every available surface. The house could have been an art gallery. It was a rainbow of color, and although none of the furniture matched, it worked so well and suited its owners down to a T. At the same time it felt like home, so much more so than her family’s posh, immaculately kept house in Claremont had ever felt.

“Take a seat.” Lorna gestured to the table as she started making the drinks.

Baxter, always happy to lounge, slumped onto the floor—his short, stumpy legs meant it wasn’t much of an effort—and Billie pulled a seat from under the table. As she sat, she noticed a few old Polaroid photos on the table. Without thinking, she reached out to pick one up and glanced down at the bright-eyed, cheeky-grinned, blond baby. Was this Travis? Hard to reconcile the baby with the dark-haired, dark-souled man he was today, but both her brothers had been fair-haired as babies and now boasted near-black mops of hair.

Lorna crossed to the table with two big mugs of steaming coffee. She gave Billie one shaped like a unicorn, with an actual horn sticking out the side, and despite the situation, it made Billie smile.

“He was a cutie,” Lorna said, and Billie realized she’d been caught with the photos.

“Travis?” Billie clarified, looking up to meet her gaze.

Lorna nodded, a sad smile haunting her lips. She wrapped her hands around her mug—it had hand-painted tiny cats all over—but didn’t lift it to drink. “I’m sorry to bring that bad feeling into your beautiful gallery today. If I’d known, I’d never…”

Billie cut her off and without thinking, reached across the table to take her hand. “Hey, you don’t need to apologize. Travis was out of line.” No matter how her hormones felt about him, the ruckus he’d caused in her gallery was unacceptable. “He had no right.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Lorna looked into Billie’s eyes, her own welling with tears. “He had every right.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t talk about this ever because I’m so ashamed, so sad, and I worry that if I start dwelling on it I’ll need something to get me through the pain, and I’m done with those addictions. At least I hope I am. It’s an ongoing uphill battle, but I don’t want to be that woman ever again.”

Billie nodded, letting Lorna know she understood.

“But that woman is the one Travis knows, and I’m going to tell you what happened because I don’t want you to think badly of my boy. He’s always meant well, was always a good son, despite his temper, despite what you saw today.”

Thinking of the way he’d waltzed into her home and threatened to kick her out, of the undesirables he associated with, of the way he’d first treated her, Billie bit her tongue and tried not to raise her eyebrows. He was definitely “good” in bed, but after today, once again she wasn’t sure about the rest.