"If rolling around feeling sorry for himself and peeing in everyone's cornflakes is what he wants, I beg to differ. In spades. "
"Les. " He shook his head, ran a hand over his face that was so tired looking. Her brother was beautiful. There was no other way to say it. Growing up, her girlfriends had tried to see him naked in the shower on every sleepover. One or two had told her if he was their brother they'd think about committing a mortal sin. But now he looked so weary, and she was sick of it. "I want to paint. I'm painting now. That's what I want. "
"I'm not talking about your painting and you know it. " She knew she'd hit the nail on the head by the way his face shuttered closed, like a trap. She almost heard the bones being crushed by the metal jaws.
"We're not doing this, Les. That's none of your business. "
"As much as it is for you to tell me I can or can't go back to school when the family needs me. I'm over eighteen. I can make my own choices. And maybe I think the family needs me to make some sacrifices. Maybe that will take away some of the things you're using to keep from doing what you really want to do. Because you're scared. We won't fall apart, Thomas. "
"What are you talking about, Les?" Rory came rolling up, his eyes darting between both siblings. "You're scaring customers. "
"I'm talking about how it's time for us both to get off our asses and do more.
Thomas shouldn't have to bear it all. "
"Well I can't exactly get off my ass, sis," Rory snapped. "And I was trying to let Thomas have a life when this happened, and you were at school. "
"Stop it. " Thomas slammed the clipboard against his thigh, brought both their heads around. "Enough. Les, you're going back to school. Rory, maybe you should think about whether feeling sorry for yourself your entire life is a good career plan. I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing. That's the end of it. " He pivoted on his heel and strode back into the stockroom, leaving them both staring after him.
"You're not the boss of us. " Rory attempted to regain the upper hand.
Thomas put his head back out, glared at him. "Yeah, I am, as a matter of fact. Deal with it. I have to make a grain delivery to the Worthington farm. I'll be back in an hour. "
"Or two. The Widow Worthington," Les said.
The tension dissipated as Rory and she exchanged a conspiratorial look, siblings in perfect accord.
Thomas rolled his eyes as he took off the work apron and shrugged into a coat.
"Cut it out. "
"Hasn't had a cow or horse on her place in ten years, but wants you to deliver five bags of grain every month. Just so she can see your cute butt in a pair of jeans. She loves the summer. . . He might just strip off the shirt if she buys a few extra bags. " Rory made a suggestive gesture that had Les clapping her hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.
"Sounds like the widow has good taste. "
Thomas had heard the bells and assumed it was a customer. He was so jolted to see Marcus leaning against the display of concrete paver samples he almost felt lightheaded, wondering if he was dreaming. Oh hell, he wasn't going to faint. Neither Rory nor Marcus would let him live that one down.
Rory turned his chair, a scowl crossing his face. But Thomas had laid down the law.
Marcus was managing a good chunk of their potential income during the off months. If he called, he was to be treated with courtesy and respect. Thomas just hadn't expected him to show up.
"Decided I didn't trust a courier service. Wanted to look at them before they were wrapped for transport and take some snapshots for Hans, even though he's already sent me a check, sight unseen. "
He could have asked Thomas to email the pictures. Marcus goddamned well knew that.
"Oh, that's marvelous. " Les grinned hugely and spun on her heel, looking between Marcus and Thomas. "Someone buying them without even seeing them. Imagine that.
That's so amazing. Thomas, you've just got to be thrilled to your toes. " He was, but for reasons that had nothing to do with his work, watching Marcus' attention caught by his sister's exuberance, a slight smile curving his mouth. The bottle wound was barely more than a faint line. He really didn't scar.
"There are people who have seen your brother's work and are willing to pay to stand in line for the next piece. "
"As they should. " Les sniffed, turning her pert nose in the air. "Just think, before long he'll be so important that he'll do just one piece every year and Donald Trump will bid a million dollars to hang it on the wall of his mansion. You'll become one of those. . . prima donnas?"
"Diva was what I was thinking," Rory sneered.
"Why don't you get it out of your system?" Marcus eyed him.
"What?" Rory demanded.