Chapter 20
Ivy received a text from Paloma, telling her that their flight from Dallas to San Antonio had been delayed due to a mechanical problem. The flight had been rescheduled to leave later in the morning. It would not reach San Antonio until a little after eleven.
Disappointment filled her. Paloma had called Ivy last night to let her know that instead of driving, she would be flying, and Jameson Polk, her new boss, would accompany her. Paloma had shared the pictures Ivy had texted, and the gallery director wished to see Ivy’s paintings in person. Her friend said Polk had seemed taken by her paintings and shared that she believed he would ask to represent Ivy. They would also be attending the final Harmony Hues before flying back to Dallas Sunday morning.
Since they would be delayed in arriving, it would take them probably two hours to disembark, pick up their rental, and drive to Lost Creek. Knowing the winery would be busy this last Saturday of the month, she texted back for them to meet her at the tasting room. She would do a tasting with Polk, since Paloma said he had expressly asked for one, and then hopefully she’d be able to sneak away for an hour to show the gallery director her paintings.
Paloma responded, telling Ivy they would see her at the tasting room, going straight there instead of to the BB where they had reservations. Ivy only hoped she would be able to share her artwork in person. Her first priority, though, was to the tasting room. She was not going to let down her parents and employees during such a busy time. Thanks to the fusion nights, more visitors had been coming to Lost Creek, and the winery had benefited from these extra visitors. Ivy made certain the brochures she had designed for Weddings with Hart were prominently displayed in the tasting room and also told tasters of the expansion taking place, urging them to return soon.
Her cell rang, and she saw it was Dax. Answering, she asked, “Is your morning crazy?”
He chuckled. “Crazy in a good way. Business is booming at Java Junction. It’s all hands on deck this morning. I assume the crowds will keep coming while I’m out assembling the sound equipment in the gazebo this afternoon. Deke said with so many artists participating in this last fusion, he’ll be setting up the art walk extra early. At least all the tenants on the square are benefitting from the heavy foot traffic. But I was calling to see how you’re doing. Are you ready to show off your paintings to the bigwig coming in?”
She explained how Paloma and Polk were running behind schedule. “I’m only hoping I can slip away from the tasting room and show him my work in person.”
“You make time to do it,” Dax said firmly. “If you’re swamped, you call in reinforcements. Your mom. Your dad. Braden. Any of them are knowledgeable enough and can do a quick tasting or two during your absence.”
“I’d hate to pull them away,” she said, waffling.
“This is too important, Ivy,” he emphasized. “I don’t want you to blow this opportunity.”
“I won’t. Thanks for your support.”
Ivy thought if push came to shove and she couldn’t leave the tasting room, she could give Paloma the key to her studio and allow her friend to take her boss to view the paintings. She and Paloma had FaceTimed quite a bit, discussing each painting once Ivy completed it, so Paloma could easily point out the best features to Polk and give him behind the scenes stories if he asked for them. That would be the best compromise. Polk might not even want Ivy around while he perused her work.
She moved about the studio now, propping different canvases against the wall, staggering them so each could be completely seen with no overlap. She set up three easels in order to display what she thought were her best efforts on them before leaving for the winery.
As she’d expected, the tasting room had a steady crowd. She, Melanie, and Sarah all had different groups in play from the time they opened at eleven-thirty. Several mentioned they would be attending Harmony Hues tonight, and she believed the series would end on a high note, with the largest attendance they’d had.
Close to two o’clock, she noticed Paloma enter with a distinguished gentleman who appeared to be in his mid-sixties. Bright blue eyes stood out in his tanned face. He was the only man in the tasting room wearing a suit and tie. She acknowledged Paloma with a smile, and her friend led her boss over to a display area where different Lost Creek Vineyards wines were featured. Fortunately, Ivy was near the end of a tasting and finished up her final remarks to the two couples with her. They had been enthusiastic in their responses, and between them, they bought a dozen bottles of wine. Melanie had finished her previous tasting a few minutes earlier, and she told Ivy she would ring up the sales, allowing her to greet the newcomers.
Paloma brightened as she headed toward them, kissing Ivy on both cheeks, saying, “Ivy Hart, I want to introduce you to Jameson Polk.”
They shook hands and Polk said, “Paloma has sung your praises, Ivy. She also said you worked together at a Houston gallery.”
“Yes, I served as the assistant director.”
“So, Lost Creek called you home again?”
“You could say that. I was ready for a transition, one which would allow me to return to painting on a regular basis. The tasting room manager at my family’s winery was retiring, and I’ve always had a nose for wine. It was perfect timing. My schedule allows me to paint for several hours most mornings before the tasting room opens.”
“I’ve already seen the photographs of your work. Paloma shared those with me. I wouldn’t have made the trip down to the Hill Country unless I saw great potential in you.” Polk smiled. “I’m a Hill Country boy myself, though you probably wouldn’t think that, seeing how I’m dressed. I was born in Uvalde. Went to SMU and stayed in Dallas after graduation since the gallery I’d interned at offered me a position. I hear your family’s wines are top notch. Paloma has insisted I do a tasting with you since she knows how I’m fond of wine.”
“Do you have time to do so?” she asked. “I know you’re running behind schedule because of the delayed flight. I can give you my keys and you can look at my paintings.”
“Our return flight to Dallas doesn’t leave until nine tomorrow morning,” Polk said. “I have the rest of the day free to sample Lost Creek Vineyards’ wines and view your paintings, as well as attend the fusion night Paloma spoke of. Besides, if I’m in the Hill Country, I want wine and barbeque. Those are the essence of the region.”
His words caused Ivy to chuckle. “Then I suppose we should get started, Mr. Polk.”
“Jameson. Mr. Polk is my father.”
She had them move to the tasting bar, asking his preferences in wine.
“I stick with all levels of red,” he shared. “I will drink a rosé when the weather is warm, though. Let’s focus on your reds today.”
Ivy spent the next forty-five minutes walking Jameson Polk through different reds produced from their vineyards, giving him a thorough, detailed explanation about the wines and answering his questions with ease. She also had him taste a couple of blends, especially the one Dax had grown fond of, which consisted of a Syrah, Merlot, and Cabernet Sauvignon mix.
When they finished the tasting, Jameson looked pleased. “I’ve been to numerous wine tastings over the years, but I appreciate your knowledge and ease in describing Lost Creek Vineyards wines. Every bottle I tasted should be available at the finest restaurants in Dallas.”
“My dad has gotten some of our wines placed in the better steakhouses in Dallas and Ft. Worth. He’s been our chief winemaker from the beginning, but he’s stepping aside from that role, turning the winemaking reins over to a winemaker from California. Dad will focus more on marketing in the future. Our wines have won numerous awards, including international ones, and I know he wants to put them on the tables of more restaurants in Texas and beyond.”
Polk removed a card from his inner coat pocket and handed it to Ivy. “Give this to your father. Have him call me the next time he comes to Dallas. There are people I can introduce him to, hopefully smoothing the way a bit.”
“That’s very generous of you, Jameson. His name is Bill Hart. Dad has a trip planned to Dallas at the end of next week. I’m sure he would like to give you a call before he comes in. Hopefully, you could arrange a meeting between the two of you. If you let me know which wines you enjoyed now, I’ll have Dad bring a few bottles of each when he drives up.”
The gallery director told her his two preferences, and Ivy assured him he would receive several bottles of each. Her gut told her Polk had valuable connections that could make a difference as her father worked to get the family’s wines into more restaurants.
“Are you ready to see Ivy’s paintings now?” Paloma asked.
Ivy looked around the tasting room. Things had slowed a bit, and only one couple waited to begin a tasting at this point.
Sarah stepped to her and said, “We’ve got this, Ivy. Go ahead. You won’t be gone that long.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully, not only wanting to explain some about her art to Polk but hear his feedback.
She told Paloma to follow her into town because she would need to return to the tasting room after their visit.
Driving the ten minutes into town, Ivy’s stomach knotted. She told herself Polk would either like her work or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t think he could find a market for it, he wasn’t the only gallery director in the State of Texas. She could pursue other avenues, starting right here in Lost Creek with Deke Manchester. Her feminine intuition told her, though, that what she was now producing was good. Better than good. Ivy had high hopes that she could make a living through her art—and that Jameson Polk was key to her future success.
They parked behind the hardware store and mounted the stairs, Paloma pointing out the mural which Ivy had painted. The sun was bright this afternoon and would show off her paintings well in strong, natural light. She admitted the pair and closed the door behind them, letting Polk move from one painting to the next. He didn’t comment as he studied each painting, causing more nerves to rattle through her.
Finally, he turned to her. “What would you wish to tell me about your art in general, Ivy?”
“The Hill Country is embedded in my soul,” she began. “The landscape in this region is so varied. Hills. Valleys. Unique rock formations. Caverns. The land alone is breathtaking in and of itself, but I enjoy inserting the vegetation and wildlife into my work, as well.”
She moved to one of her favorites, completed last month. “Bluebonnets speak to the heart of Texans. I particularly like this field of bluebonnets with the morning sun rising, kissing each flower with a ray of sunshine.”
Stepping to another, she said, “I’ve always been intrigued by sunrises and sunsets. The spectrum of colors which come alive in the sky during those brief periods of time. That’s apparent in this picture of the sun setting over Lost Creek Lake. Bodies of water do run throughout the Hill Country, despite its barren landscape. I’ve spent many happy times tubing along the Guadalupe River and swimming in this very lake. I love to paint water in various forms, capturing its varying shades and movement.”
She waved her hand, indicated the body of work in the studio. “As you can see, my focus is on my roots. I think just as the Hill Country speaks to me, it does to others, as well. Not only Texans, but lovers of nature and its varying beauty.”
Swallowing, Ivy found her mouth dry. “Do you have any questions for me? Or any feedback on a particular painting?”
A slow smile spread across Polk’s face. “I’m one of those Texans whose heart will always be in the Hill Country. I may have lived in Dallas for over four decades, but this region holds my heart in its hands. I think your use of color is dynamic, Ivy. Your brushstrokes are impeccable. I see everything here has been done in oils, save for this one picture of Lost Creek Lake. Do you work in watercolors very often?”
“I’ll be honest, Jameson. I didn’t paint for several years. My previous employer kept me so busy that I barely had time to make my bed, much less sit before a canvas and indulge in hours of painting. Since I recently moved back to Lost Creek, though, I’ve rediscovered my passion for painting. Yes, I have worked with watercolors before, and I plan to continue experimenting with them, but the bulk of my work will continue to be done in oil. I used to always enjoy charcoal, but I feel it doesn’t do the Hill Country justice, with all its incredible colors embedded in the landscape.”
“I wish to represent you and definitely will commit to a showing of your work, Ivy. I haven’t been as enthused with a Texas artist in many years, but I see something special in your work.” His eyes roamed the room a moment. “It looks as if you have fourteen or fifteen canvases. For a show, I would want a minimum of twenty-five paintings. Thirty would be better. How long would it take you to produce the additional paintings?”
She thought a moment, doing the math in her head. “I’ve completed a little over two paintings a month since I’ve returned to Lost Creek. I still have my job at the tasting room, and I do know it’s important to have a balance between work and spending time with family and friends. I could probably be ready with another ten paintings by the beginning of February, but that would mean you would need to accept every painting I gave to you. There wouldn’t be extras to sort through with that tight deadline. You could give me more time, and I could give you a better variety to select from.”
“I can’t see myself rejecting anything you paint, Ivy. I don’t say that lightly. Paloma told me you were in charge of selecting and placing paintings exhibited at the Houston gallery. You know from experience that it’s always good to have extra canvases to look upon, but I don’t need them in this instance. I’ll take whatever you can give me by the first of February.”
Jameson extended his hand, and Ivy took it, shaking.
“We can draw up the legal paperwork when you come to Dallas in the near future,” he said. “I do wish for my gallery to represent your work. We can agree on a period of time regarding our agreement, as well as the commission I’ll take for your exhibition.”
Pausing, he studied her a long moment, and Ivy felt her cheeks heat. “I also think you should consider coming permanently to Dallas to paint. See what inspires you there. If you leave your job at the winery and start painting full-time, you would produce more art in a timely fashion. Would that be possible, especially with the guarantee of an exhibition at my gallery?”
Ivy was torn. She felt a deep responsibility to her parents because they had allowed her to take over the tasting room. Especially with the new expansion, she would be needed more than ever here in Lost Creek.
And that didn’t even include factoring in her relationship with Dax.
How could she go to Dallas to paint and still see him? A long-distance relationship with the man she loved had no appeal. Yet Jameson Polk was giving her the opportunity of a lifetime.
“For now, I need to remain in Lost Creek,” she said firmly. “I have obligations to my family’s business.”
“Yes, Paloma told me of the expansion. How there will be a much larger tasting room and your sister is opening an event center on the winery’s grounds. But while family obligations are important, Ivy, you must be true to yourself and your art.”
“It’s tempting to come to Dallas, Jameson, but I need to stay in Lost Creek for the foreseeable future. Inspiration surrounds me here. If you can’t commit to a showing of my work early next year, I completely understand. I can always find different representation.”
He shook his head vigorously. “No, Ivy, I want to show your work and represent you. I merely believe unless you choose to dedicate yourself to your art full-time, you are wasting your potential. I do, however, respect your commitment to your family and their business. Keep sending photographs of your completed artwork to Paloma. In fact, I will have her drive down here one day next week to collect what you’ve already finished. That will give you extra room in your studio, and I can also began thinking of the show and how I will assemble it.”
“That would be terrific, Jameson. The only painting which needs to remain with me is the one of Lost Creek Rock.”
Disappointment filled his face. “Why?”
“That painting goes to my sister when she marries, which should be soon. I can, though, paint something very similar. Approach the rock from different angles. Lost Creek Rock is a huge part of this town’s history, and I can see myself painting it many times in the future. Have you heard the legend surrounding it?”
“No, I can’t say that I have. In fact, I wasn’t familiar with it. I only know of Enchanted Rock.”
Ivy briefly related the tale of the tragedy between the two lovers, and Polk gobbled it up.
“Yes, I do want more than one canvas of Lost Creek Rock. Being able to share this story with clients is a wonderful way to tease potential buyers.”
“I need to get back to the tasting room,” she told the pair. Looking to Paloma she asked, “When will you be down here to pick up the paintings? Will you bring the specialty wrap and custom crates for shipping, so they’ll be protected?”
“I can return any day that’s convenient for you, Ivy, and I’ll have everything necessary to make certain your paintings arrive without a scratch on them. You know I have experience with shipping art. I won’t let you down.”
“Why don’t you make it Monday or Wednesday? Those are my two days off from work.”
“Monday works for me,” her friend said.
Glancing to Jameson, she added, “I know you’re ready to get some barbeque in you, but I do hope you’ll make time to stop by the final Harmony Hues night. It will be the largest display of art since we started the fusion nights.”
“Paloma assured me I’ll want to pick up a painting or two for the gallery. Who knows? I might find another talent to sign on this trip.”
The trio left her studio, with Paloma saying they would check in at The Inn on Lost Creek, followed by a trip to Blackwood BBQ.
Ivy returned to the tasting room, having been gone just an hour. She did another tasting for a family of four. By then, it was five o’clock.
“Why don’t you head to the square?” Sarah asked. “We’ll finish up here. Dax will be wondering where you are.”
“I think I’ll do that,” she said, eager to share with Dax the positive outcome of Jameson Polk viewing her art.
When she reached the square, a crowd was already gathering, even though Harmony Hues wouldn’t start for another hour. Ivy parked behind the hardware store and walked to Java Junction, not having seen Dax at the gazebo. She waved at Scott and Jeanine, working behind the barista bar, and they both pointed up, letting her know Dax was in his apartment. Cutting through the storeroom, she went up the interior staircase and knocked at his door.
Dax opened it, his guitar in hand. When he saw her, he pulled her to him, the kiss unexpected but wonderful.
“Tell me everything,” he said, stepping back into his apartment, and Ivy followed.
“Jameson liked everything he saw!” she said, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “He’s going to hold a showing for me, probably in mid-February. I’ve got a lot to paint between now and then, though. He wants between ten and fifteen more paintings from me by then.”
He frowned. “That’s a lot of work. Then again, maybe traffic in the tasting room will slow some once fall ends.”
She had told him how Lost Creek still received a good number of visitors through October since the weather was usually mild.
“Maybe you can move from working at the tasting room five days a week to four,” he suggested. “That extra day of painting would help. And if we need to cut back on seeing one another, I?—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I want to see more of you. Not less.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “You have a ton on your plate, Ivy, especially with the new tasting room opening soon. You have workers to hire, and that includes those in the gift shop, since you’ll be taking on the responsibilities of that since the two will occupy the same building. Ordering the merch. Keeping track of sales.”
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she said, “You are my priority, Dax. Everything else is a distant second.”
He kissed her. “I like being your number one, Professor, but we need to talk about this more once tonight is over. Right now, I need to get back to the gazebo.”
Taking her hand, he led Ivy downstairs and to the center of the town square. She watched him talking with different musicians who would be performing tonight and decided to see if Deke needed her help. As she hunted for Deke, Ivy decided it wasn’t important to mention to Dax about Jameson’s suggestion that she move to Dallas, even if it might be temporary. It wasn’t something she planned to do, so she didn’t feel she was hiding anything from him.
So why did she feel guilty keeping it to herself?