Dragonfly Moments

By Kathy Bosman

Seven years earlier, a young and serious Tessa Calitz wrote a letter to free spirit Ryan le Roux promising her undying love. As time passed she forgot about that letter...but Ryan did not.

When he walks back into her life, Tessa is in a relationship and busy setting up her art gallery in Johannesburg. She has plans to start a family, and the arrival of Ryan throws her for a spin. He is the worst thing that could happen to her dream of stability...or is he?

When everything she clung to starts to crumble, Ryan is right beside her to inspire her to greater things. But her compulsion for having marriage and children on her terms alone pushes Ryan away--until she falls in love with an orphaned baby.

What can Ryan do to make Tessa realize that being with him is what her heart has longed for all along?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Decadent Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781613335390

Kathy Bosman

Kathy lives in South Africa, where the summers are hot, the winters cool, and bugs thrive. She writes fiction in many forms, most of the time with women who feel deeply, men who care strongly, and characters who learn lessons along the way. Every so often, she sprinkles a little magic in her stories. When she’s not hectically busy, she loves reading, going dancing, watching movies, water painting, and exploring the spiritual world.If you’re inclined to keep up with Kathy’s book news, you can follow her on her website: http://www.kathybosman.com or subscribe to her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/NokET

Book preview

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dragonfly Moments

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Kathy Bosman

ISBN: 978-1-61333-539-0

Cover art by Tibbs Designs

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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www.decadentpublishing.com

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~Dedication~

To my precious family—even though many of the moments we’ve shared together have been while doing ordinary things, my memory treasure chest is full because of who you are and how much fun you are to be with.

Dragonfly Moments

Ubuntu Series

By

Kathy Bosman

Chapter One

Tessa Calitz gazed up at the windows of her art gallery. They were all open, so why was she so hot? The building soaked in the February heat and sucked out all the oxygen. A domed ceiling, tall white-paneled walls, and high industrial-style panes gave the place a mournful feel like an ancient cathedral tucked away from civilization. When she’d bought it, the historical feel had drawn her. Now she found it melancholic.

She padded to the door to take in some fresh air from outside but instead suffocated on the heat that blasted her face. The vibrant colors of Nelson Mandela Square and the liveliness of people walking past, nattering amongst themselves and even laughing, contrasted with the starkness of her empty gallery.

She shouldn’t complain she’d found a spot right near one of the greatest tourist attractions in Sandton, Johannesburg. The larger-than-life statue of Mandela in the square and the Peacemaker Museum epitomized the breaking free of her country’s people from the oppressive regime in the nineties. Tourists and even locals loved the place. So did she. Sometimes it took her breath away. But not today. Being in a prime position hadn’t kept its promise of lots of business. Not yet.

Sighing, she turned her gaze back inside to her latest painting on the wall opposite her. Something about it disturbed her, but what? Maybe the deep colors, the loneliness of the man on the pier, or the whole feel of the artwork made her want to cry. Yet, everyone loved the painting, naming it her best work.

The swish of the door opening wider and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the polished floor caught her attention. A customer. Precious gold—so rare and so needed. Turning to face her potential sale, she put on a bright smile…that turned to jelly. The breath froze in her lungs.

Ryan. Is that you? she said with a whisper.

The man who had filled her dreams and inspired her whole art career years ago stood before her, taller, broader, tanned, and smiling wide. She had somehow thought he’d disappeared off the globe. Not much had changed. That slight curl to his hair, the dark halo a perfect frame for his broad-jawed, rugged face. Thick, velvet locks, the color of dew-soaked mountains and earth. Piercing eyes, like planets orbiting her heart. The longing of years seemed to converge on this particular moment. She pulled back, frightened by the intensity of her feelings.

I like your new gallery.

She shivered and clasped her chiffon top close to her chest. His voice had deepened over the years. He had matured like she had grown up, changed, and moved on.

Thanks. I’ve been open for three months already.

Her voice came out like a squeak. Her palms were moist and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He truly was the best artwork in the world—the way his body moved—the whole picture of him.

May I? He pointed to the art she’d spent days arranging perfectly on the walls.

Of course.

He paused before each painting as she held her breath, longing to read his mind on what he thought of them. Then he spent longer before her latest work. She moved up behind him and stared at the misty oil canvas in muted colors of a figure standing on a pier, overlooking a churning sea. The man appeared pensive and peaceful with the grey, choppy waves around him and the dark, billowing clouds above him. She followed the shape of the real man in front of her with her gaze. Who would have thought he would come here? All these years, she’d figured him gone forever. Buried under new dreams and desires. Little did she know her need for him could resurrect just with a brief encounter.

How come they’re all landscapes?

She shrugged. Landscapes are my genre.

Except for those crazy mother and child paintings stashed away at home that no-one’s ever seen. Days and days of her spare time were taken away painting a picture of an African mother with her newborn twins, a Chinese mother with a toddler in a pram, and the hippie mom with her baby in a pouch attached to her middle. The feeling bubbling inside her while she painted them had been unsurpassed by any other. What would Ryan think of them? It was safer that he didn’t know. Better he believe she was a landscape painter and nothing else.

He moved on to one of the other artists’ works. Did he hate her landscapes? Why did it matter to her so much what he thought of her art? Not like she still loved him. Not after all these years. But he had inspired her art in a way—got the ball rolling because she used to spend hours sketching him while he romanced her best friend and roommate, Annie. That felt like decades ago, yet was only seven years. Ryan had been the highlight of her waking hours then, her shy and aimless period when she worked in a mindless job for little pay, before she realized she could study her passion. Art.

Where are your sketches? he asked.

She frowned. They’re at home. I stopped sketching my second year in college because that’s when I developed my best painting style. My sketches didn’t get me top marks.

But they’re so realistic.

You never looked at them.

I’ve studied the one. Constantly.

She turned away, her face hot and the hairs rising on her arms in a wash of tingles. Had he come into the gallery on purpose? She strode to her desk, reaching it in a moment, relishing the distance between them. If Ryan could evoke such feelings in her now when she was with another man, would she ever be free from his grip? The heat of the room suffocated her, and she tried to take in several breaths. If only she had the power to block out the effect he had on her. So, he’d been thinking of the letter she sent him. The same one that disclosed her heart’s feelings toward him. Too late to come here now and talk about it. Stir up feelings she had no right feeling anymore. And why all the questions about her art? As if he really cared. Ryan didn’t care. If he did, he’d have come back to her years ago.

He strolled up to her. Who is that man in the composition?

Hiding part of her body behind the comfort of her desk, she pulled out another painting to show him, to take his mind off her work. Which one?

You know which one.

Why do you ask? This time, she gazed directly at him. If he was going to interrogate, so would she.

He looks like me. There was a slight grin, almost triumphant, on his delectable mouth.

I never meant it.

He laughed like he didn’t believe her.

She didn’t believe herself. So, that’s why the painting had disturbed her—it portrayed Ryan. Or was someone similar to him.

It’s good. I’d like to buy it. In fact, I would buy all your work if I could.

She moved out from behind her desk and paced toward the painting while he dropped in beside her, his movements liquid and perfectly harmonious, like a dancer. Her breath gushed out of her, and she took in a few gasps to ease her tension. What was wrong with her? Where were her self-control and common sense? Ryan had snatched them away in a moment, by being in the same room and asking a few pointed questions. She hated being attracted to other men when in a relationship. Besides the ridiculous rainbow-colored bandana around his head, he looked better than ever. Hard to ignore. Biting her lip, she determined to shift the focus to Mark. She’d chosen years ago to find a man who would bring the stability to build a family, not one who could evoke the fickle feelings of love and passion. Ryan was too dangerous for her. Mark was safe, comfortable, and the perfect match for her emotional self. How lucky she’d been to find him.

Mark may even propose to her tonight, as she half expected, and definitely hoped. They were going out to dinner later for Valentine’s Day.

Are you okay?

Ryan picked up on her feelings too easily. A perceptive man didn’t necessarily make a good family man. Tessa cleared her throat and looked down. Yeah, sure. So, should I take it down? I’ll now have a spot for Mariki’s new painting, the one I showed you on my desk.

What, that awful art piece crowded with primary colors? No, I think you should leave your work there. It speaks to you.

He turned around, and strode out the gallery without even saying goodbye. The blue sky peeping through the door was all she saw after a flash of brown disappearing. Her head reeled with what had just transpired.

Why did he just leave like that? What did he want in the first place? The questions flooded her mind the whole afternoon, making it a great relief when she locked up the place. Even the art spoke to her of Ryan. At least she’d had something to look forward to, else the day would have been utterly miserable.

After work, she headed out of the bustling Sandton Centre to her home in Morningside, a suburb with large estates and hotels splashed with Mediterranean colors, chalky textures, and golf-course lawns. The suburb always reminded her of the buildings in Henry Pember Smith’s artwork that she’d studied in college for one of her projects—bathed in light and pastel colors, contrasted with the darkened windows throughout.

Hers was a humble abode, but her speed increased as she neared home, eager to dress for her evening out. Once inside, she settled in her room. Suspecting they were going to go to Monte Casino for a fancy meal, she smiled as she sauntered toward her wardrobe to take out her best outfit, a little black number to match with a short-sleeved, tailored jacket, and silver strappy-heeled shoes. And the jacket wasn’t black. She’d grown a little since her Ryan days. All she’d worn then was black, dark purple, and, occasionally, brown. Goth was her style. Mark wouldn’t approve. Neither did she anymore.

Again, her thoughts flitted back to Ryan.

Ryan, oh, Ryan. Why can’t I forget you?

His visit today had impacted her way too much. She’d thought she was over him forever, moved on to a better life without the desperate empty longing of wanting someone she couldn’t have. Even if he showed an interest in her now, she couldn’t go back. She found it fun to reminisce, though. To think back to those lazy, friendship-filled days with him.

While she put on the dress, she picked up the box that held her pre-college sketches. With her dress half-up her thighs, she paged through the sketchbook of Ryan. Fresh waves of emotion broke over her. They were happy times with Ryan and Annie, yet there was so much hidden jealousy and disappointment.

He’d worshipped Annie, yet confided in her. She always wondered what Annie had that she didn’t. Although Annie was her best friend, at times she’d despised how easy gaining his admiration was for her.

She smiled at Ryan’s long hair. He’d always worn his hair long. That much hadn’t changed. Yet, his face looked different—his soul had changed. And more, so had she.

No, Ryan. You can’t come back into my life now. You’ve chosen the worst possible time, just when I’m getting serious with a wonderful guy. A guy who will make the perfect father.

She jerked her head toward the painting that sat at the back of her cupboard, the one of herself with a babe in arms. The baby she’d longed to have for years. Blinking back the prickle of tears in her eyes, she turned away. Why did this burning desire never leave her?

Some days it consumed all of her. The fear that motherhood would never happen in her existence would choke her breath out sometimes.

Tessa’s watch beeped on the fifteen-minute interval. Quarter to six already. She scrambled into her clothes.

Mark was picking her up in fifteen minutes. Strong, dependable Mark. The man she wanted to marry one day and have a family with. They would never lack with him.

She stood and fixed the straps on her elegant black dress, buttoned up her jacket, and straightened out the creases in her skirt. Her mauve scarf, used as an Alice band, finished off the picture perfectly. She sat on the bed next to the sketchbook, peering at Ryan as she buckled her shoes.

Why did he always look so rugged, even in the most sedate settings? How many times had she yearned to touch his long fringe, to feel the silky,