Driven to Distraction (Silhouette Desire S.) by Sheri Whitefeather, Dixie Browning Page A

of her own, had enrolled in Silver’s circus? No wonder Silver spent so much of his time with the older members of his class. Apparently those were the only ones who were serious about learning.
    Maggie felt Ben’s presence even before he reached past her to scoop two glasses into the ice bucket. He filled them with the sweetened tea and handed her one, saying, “Here you go.”
    â€œThank you,” she said stiffly. Then, with false conviction, “This is really nice, isn’t it?”
    His eyes sparkled with hidden laughter. The journalist in her—not to mention the woman—wanted to ask him why he was pretending to be an artist when obviously he was no better at it than she was, and evidently no more interested in learning.
    But then, he might ask a few questions she’d just as soon not answer.
    He leaned against the porch rail, his gaze moving over the clusters of chattering women. She wanted to shout, “I’m right here—look at me!”
    Instead, she backed away to perch on the arm of an Adirondack chair. The chair tipped, tea splashed over her lap, ice cubes skittered across the porch floor and Maggie swore silently. If there happened to be a spill, a splash or a drip anywhere in the vicinity, her body would attract it like a magnet.
    When Ben leaned forward and began mopping at the icy liquid with a handkerchief, she shoved his hand away. “Don’t bother. It’s only tea, it won’t kill me.” Judging from what she’d seen of the facilities, any laundry equipment would probably consist of a washtub and a clothesline.
    The older woman with the pretty pink hair strolled over. “Hi, you’re Maggie and I’m Janie—I think we met yesterday. Are you having as much fun this morning as I am?” She held up her glass. “I don’t think it’ll stain. It’s mostly sugar syrup.” She kicked a few ice cubes under the railing without making a big production of it.
    When Perry Silver joined them, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees. It had nothing to do with a few ice cubes melting in the shrubbery, or even the clammy mess plastered to her thighs. As uncomfortable as she was, Maggie sensed Ben’s hostility.Which was odd, as she’d never before been particularly sensitive to the feelings of others.
    Well, except for Mary Rose. And her father. And the elderly widow she visited two or three times a week with library books and treats from the bakery. And maybe a few others.
    â€œAre you enjoying yourself, Hunter?” Perry asked with a smile that easily qualified as a smirk.
    â€œI was,” Ben said. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Maggie was reminded of a sleeping lion she’d seen at the Asheboro Zoo.
    â€œGood, good.” Turning to Janie, the artist said, “And you, little lady? This morning’s effort showed definite promise. We’ll have you painting like a pro by week’s end, I guarantee.”
    Janie waited until he moved on to another group before murmuring a reply. “Sonny boy, if you’re an example of a pro, I’ll pass.” With a shrug, she added, “He really is a good teacher, though.”
    â€œThat’s what everybody keeps saying,” Maggie said. “Sure can’t prove it by me.”
    When Janie wandered off to join Charlie and Georgia, Maggie turned to Ben, wishing she had half the poise of the older woman. Poise was tough enough when she was all dressed up in her Sunday best. Wet from the waist down, it was impossible. “Well…I guess I’ll see you around.”
    Ben stood. He’d stood when Janie joined them until the older woman had pressed him back down again. Someone, Maggie thought—his mother, probably—had taught him good manners.
    â€œMaggie,” Ben said just as she was about to disappear inside. She glanced over her shoulder, and he grinned at her. “You’re not all that bad.