A Lasting Impression

bread.” She peered up at him, waiting.
    Gleam in his eye, he gave her shoulder a friendly nudge. “You’re a spoiled officer.”
    Laughing, she turned back to her work. “A couple more minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
    He knelt beside her. “How long does it take you to paint one of those?”
    “Only about thirty minutes of actual painting time . . .” She completed the last tiny brushstrokes on the miniature mansion and set the joujou on its edge for the paint to set, careful to place it where it wouldn’t roll off the desk. “But I have to wait for it to dry before I can add the detail to the mansion.”
    “ Hmmm . . . Time-consuming.”
    “Yes.” She placed her paintbrush in a cup of turpentine. “But worth it, I hope.”
    He straightened. “I have no doubt your party favors will be a huge success. As will everything else.” He glanced toward the window. “We’d better get started, though. From what you said last night, it sounds like we have a lot to do, and it’s getting dark earlier these days.”
    “Have they left yet?”
    He nodded. “The carriage just pulled away. Mrs. Acklen said she and the children will be gone until well after dark.”
    “Perfect! That should give us enough time, if we hurry. If you’ll get that basket there on the dresser, please.” She gestured. “And I’ll get these”—she grabbed the squares of oilcloth she’d cut earlier, along with blue and pink ribbons—“and then we’ll be ready.”
    He was more casually dressed than she’d ever seen him, sans coat and tie, and she liked the change. Very much. His white shirt fit snugly across his shoulders and chest, and rolled-up sleeves revealed muscular tanned forearms. Tailored gray trousers complemented his physique just as nicely—from the ever-so-brief glance she allowed herself. Twice.
    They’d seen each other throughout the week, but it was mainly at dinner and always with others around. He’d seemed somewhat preoccupied, and she’d wanted to ask him about it, wondering if it was due to something she’d said or done. Or whether it had more to do with the numerous closed-door meetings he’d had with Mrs. Acklen in the library throughout the week.
    Whatever it was, the appropriate opportunity to ask him had never presented itself. Until now . . .
    “I thought we’d start over there.” She pointed to the vine-laced gazebo closest to the house. “I really appreciate your help with this, Sutton. I know you’ve been busy this week. Lots of meetings, it seems.” She glanced over at him. “I hope everything’s all right. That . . . nothing bad has happened?”
    “Everything’s fine. And it’s my pleasure to help.” He gestured for her to enter the gazebo, then followed. “For not knowing what you were going to do for William’s party at the outset, you’ve certainly accomplished a great deal in a very short time, Claire.”
    Though his behavior seemed normal enough, she sensed he’d evaded her question, which made her even more curious about the purpose behind his meetings with Mrs. Acklen. As she set the pieces of oilcloth on the bench inside the gazebo, her curiosity made a random leap—and a sinking feeling set in.
    What if they’d been meeting about her ? About whether or not she was going to get the job? Or worse, what if they’d learned something about her? Or about the gallery in New Orleans? The very thought sent a shudder of dread through her. Aware of Sutton watching her, she cordoned off her fears as best she could. “Thank you, Sutton. I’ve had a lot of excellent help.”
    “You’ve had a lot of excellent ideas too. Mrs. Acklen is certainly impressed.” He looked over at her. “As am I.”
    She stilled. “Thank you. . . . That means a great deal coming from you.”
    His expression turned sheepish. “Why? Because I told you I didn’t think you were the most qualified for the job?”
    “No.” She reached for the basket of note cards he held. “Because I value your good opinion. And not to correct you, but”—she made herself look into his eyes, reliving the sting of his original comment—“what you said was that you didn’t think I was even among the most qualified.”
    A stricken look came over him, and he clutched his chest as though she’d plunged a dagger into his heart. He staggered back, agony replacing the shock on his face. Then he fell backward out of the gazebo and landed in the grass on his derrière.
    Eyes wide, she watched in disbelief, a hiccup