She sat back against the barn and turned to look at him. He regarded her with a pensive expression as if he wanted to say something but washoldingback.
“It’s none of my business,” he began. “But maybe you should have been an artist. You’re clearlygifted.”
“You don’t have to flatter me. The painting isn’t that good,”shesaid.
“I beg to differ. In fact, I know an art dealer in West Yellowstone who might want to put your painting in hisgallery.”
“A gallery?” she asked. “They only take work from realartists.”
“Who judges whether or not someone is a real artist?” heasked.
“I don’t know. Customers, Iguess.”
“Then let them decide whether or not your painting is art,” hechallenged.
“Why are you being so adamant?” sheasked.
“Honestly? Because you weren’t meant to be a lawyer. You were meant to be anartist.”
“Are you saying I wasn’t good enough to win that case?” she asked as herhacklesrose.
“Not at all,” he said. “I hardly know you, but from what I do know, you don’t seem to likeyourjob.”
“Theyfiredme.”
“Because you lostthecase?”
“Yep,”shesaid.
“Did you lose a lot of cases?” heasked.
“This was thefirstone.”
“Then it seems discriminatory that they fired you because ofonecase.”
“Probably, but I don’t want to think about any of that right now.” A dull throb began in the back of her head. It sent vise-like tendrils of pain around her neck. Dammit, not another tension headache. “I think I need to stay out of the sun for a bit. I’ll have to finish the paintinglater.”
“Okay, but when you’re done, I want it. I really do think you’re gifted and that your work should be on display,”hesaid.
“When I’m done with it, I’ll make sure that you get it.” She forced an indulgent smile. It was enough to put a satisfied grin onhisface.
Artist?Pfft. She wasn’t an artist. More like a dabbler who’d only dabbled on two paintings in her life. She couldn’t figure out what Cody saw that she wasn’t seeing. But she had a feeling that he’d never leave her alone until he got his way. It didn’t matter to her. Even if the gallery owner did agree to display it, it wouldn’t change anything. At the end of the week, she’d still have to return to her life in Texas and find a way to piece it backtogether.
Chapter5
The next day,Abby stood on the back porch with a steaming mug of coffee. She’d been more than willing to brave the early morning chill in order to watch the sunrise. Even though an hour had passed since the sun had crested the mountains, she hadn’t felt the urge to go backinside.
The sliding door squeaked as it opened. An older woman with closely cropped gray hair strolled onto theporch.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked as she closedthedoor.
“Not at all.I’mAbby.”
“Vicki. My daughter isCarol.”
“Married to… um… was it Hank?” Abbyasked.
“Yougotit.”
