Ride a Painted Pony (Superromance) Read Free Page B

started immediately.”
    “Can I have a moment alone with my fingers? I need to say good-bye.”
    “The sharpest tool you’ll use today is a grease pencil. You’re going to trace that horse, then we project the tracing onto a large piece of paper on the wall and you trace that. Then you glue up the wood for the body and legs. You won’t be carving anything for a couple of days.”
    “With luck, maybe this will be wrapped up by then.”
    His face went dark. “Yeah. Sure.”
    He stood, and so did she. “Look,” he said, “we’re supposed to close at six, but Veda generally stays late.”
    “How come she’s the only one out there?”
    “It’s Monday. You should have been here Saturday and Sunday.”
    “You’re open seven days a week?”
    “I have an apartment upstairs. I’m not always down here but I’m usually available.”
    Taylor sat on the edge of the desk and stuck her Nikes out in front of her. “Let me get this straight. You leave a bunch of perfect strangers down here for hours at a time?” She shook her head. He really didn’t have the first clue about security. “I’m surprised you’ve got a single power tool left. No wonder they stole your animals.”
    He had the grace to flush. “I told you, they’re family. Nobody even steals a cup of coffee. This is the first time in the five years we’ve been open that anything has been taken.”
    Taylor didn’t believe that for a second, but she could see from the set look around his mouth that he did—and would fight her if she suggested otherwise.
    “If you’re free tonight we could go someplace for dinner, then we can come back here. I’ll give you the whole story and the grand tour in private. That way you won’t have to pretend to be gaga over carousel animals.”
    She shook her head. “No dinner, thanks. I can come back tonight, however.”
    He nodded and opened the door. “Come on. Bring the magazine.”
    Taylor realized her hand still lay on the cover. She picked up the magazine and followed Nick into the warehouse.
     
    “WELL, OLLIE, HERE’S ANOTHER fine mess you’ve gotten me into,” Taylor said into the telephone.
    Mel Borman’s rumble—his nearest approach to laughter—vibrated down the line.
    “All your appendages intact?”
    “So far. My neck hurts, I’ve got writer’s cramp, and there’s grease pencil embedded under my fingernails. I don’t know a damn thing more than I did this morning except that tracing is not my long suit.” She outlined the day and reported her conversations. “I came home to feed Elmo and take a shower, then I’m going back for a nice long chat with Kendall and a guided tour.”
    “What do you think of him?”
    “I think he’s a certifiable lunatic with a deadly combination of male hormones, charisma and a holy mission.”
    “What mission?”
    “He wants the entire population of the United States to carve knockoffs of wooden animals originally intended to entertain children, and to treat them as though they were each the Mona Lisa.”
    “I like ’em.”
    “Fine. For grandchildren on Sunday afternoon. Not as the Holy Grail.”
    “They’re fun, Taylor. People have fun carving them and looking at them. You remember that word fun?”
    “From another lifetime.” Taylor massaged the sore muscles at the back of her neck. “If what I did today is your idea of fun, I’d rather have a root canal.”
    “They’re also big business and big money. Or at least Nick Kendall’s are. In the world of carousel animals, his are the Mona Lisa.”
    “So I’ve been told. I’ll let you know tonight after I’ve seen them whether or not I agree.”
    “Who cares if you agree? Collectors are paying upwards of fifty big ones for animals that they think are original. Kendall’s are probably every bit as good as the originals except that they were carved twenty years ago rather than a hundred. The man has an international reputation to protect, and whether you like them or not, he’s paying us to