CHAPTER 4

Ben

“Wow. I didn’t think you’d get it up this fast.”

I grin and lift my eyes to find Isla leaning over me.

This morning I woke up to her head under the sheets, leisurely licking her way up my thighs. Before my eyes even opened, she had me engulfed in the slick heat of her mouth, and I had to struggle not to come down her throat. All it took was a tug on her short hair, and she was sliding her body up mine until her core was poised over my cock. There was nothing more glorious than to see her sturdy hips sink down until I was buried deep inside her. It was slow, even lazy, the way she took what she wanted from me, and I’d been happy to lie there and let her have it all. She’d been playful and would bring me to the edge before easing the pace, only to do it again. Only so much playing a guy can take before he takes matters in his own hands, and finally I flipped us, so Isla was on her back and I was taking us all the way.

Later, as I was twisting this way and that, cleaning up in the tiny shower, I promised myself we’d have to invest in a large bathroom in the new house. Big enough for the two of us. When I stepped out, wrapping a towel around my hips, Isla was already perched on a stool at the counter, her laptop open in front of her. Engrossed in her edits, I got dressed, kissed her neck in passing, and went to build a shed.

“Watch it, Pixie,” I growl into her smiling face. “You’re enough to give a man a complex with those old man barbs you throw out.”

“I was talking about the shed, you perv,” she says, shaking her head but grinning as she did it. She moves back a step and takes in the small building. It hadn’t taken much to level the floor and put the walls up. These prefab kits come mostly preassembled, so as long as you keep your angles plumb, they basically just snap together. The only things left are the insulation panels and the roof, and last comes hanging the door.

“How come you’re so good at this?”

“Worked construction on weekends and during the summer breaks to pay for college,” I admit on a shrug. “Found out I’m good with my hands.”

“I’ll say.” Her cheeky smile matches the twinkle in her eyes when I glance over, before she turns serious. “I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but your parents sucked.” I throw my head back and laugh at her unexpected venom.

“Yes, they did. But I came out with an added skill set that sure comes in handy now, doesn’t it?” The only response is a grumble. I get up from my knees and pull her into my arms. “Hey. It’s done. Been done for a long time and I’m okay with it.” When the frown is still on her face, I lean down to kiss it away. “We’ll have to have Stacie come visit here sometime. I’d like you to meet her. She and Mak would love it here.” I change the subject and that perks her right up.

“Do you think they could come before the snow hits?”

“I’ll give her a call this week.”

“Awesome.” Her voice is breathy but her smile is big. “I have to run into Dolores to drop off a few prints at Jen’s and pick up something for dinner. Anything in particular you like or don’t like?”

“Depends,” I answer. “Are you gonna cook it?” I watch as she rolls her eyes. Cute.

“Was planning to,” she finally concedes.

“Good, then I’ll like anything. Word of warning; I can feed myself, but I’m a shit cook. All I’m good at is meat. Grilling it that is.” Now she’s grinning.

“Is that your way of telling me I’ll be the cook in the family?” she teases.

“Seems fair,” I shoot right back, hooking her around the waist. “I’ll build shit and you cook.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles against my mouth as I give her a hard kiss, before letting her go.

“Drive safe,” I call after her.

She keeps walking, giving me a thumbs-up over her shoulder.

-

A couple of hours later, I step back to admire my handiwork.

Looks pretty good.

The roof went on smooth, the hard foam insulation panels were easy to cut to size and install, but I had to use shims to hang the damn door. That part took longer than I expected.

Tossing my tools back in the toolbox, I hear a truck start up on one of the camp spots along the water’s edge. Out of the fifty or so sites, there were only about eighteen taken, and that would likely become fewer over the weeks to come. I expect that numbers will pick up over the weekends, but with summer over and kids back to school, it’s pretty quiet during the week. Most of the current campers are likely fishers or hunters, and there’d be more of those coming in. Hunting season opens early September. Mostly elk and deer, maybe black bear in these regions. It’s a whole different breed of campers.

The truck pulling out now, with the large chest freezer strapped down in the bed, belongs to a couple of guys who’d been a bit rowdy last night. Celebrating maybe, since they obviously pulled up stakes and are heading home this morning.

I was never one much for hunting. I like game as well as the next guy, but I guess when hunting bad guys is what you do for a living, there’s not much thrill in hunting down animals. I might go out at some point. See if Damian is interested in coming down for a weekend; maybe see if we can tag an elk. It would give us enough meat for both our freezers.

Thinking of freezers, I should check to see if the generator is in good working order. Isla mentioned there is a chest freezer in there as well. The door to the big shed is padlocked, so I head inside to see if I can find a key that fits. On a hook just inside the trailer door, I find a bunch, most of them with tags. It doesn’t take long to locate the one for the shed.

The key turns smoothly in the padlock and I pull open the double doors. I’m pleased to find the generator is not as old as I thought it might be. Looks like a 10,000-watt unit, which is plenty big enough to sustain a house, let alone a trailer.

Lifting the lid on the freezer, I find it maybe a third full. Ice has frosted the inside of the walls and lid. It’s an older one, but could probably handle one more winter. It just needs cleaning out. Next I turn to the generator, checking the fuel gauge. When I try to fire it up with the electric starter, it kicks on immediately. Not exactly without noise, but it isn’t that bad. I let it run for a bit, while I scan the rest of the shed’s contents.

Gardening tools, some lumber, and a shelving unit with bathroom and cleaning supplies. I presume those are for the public showers and toilets. Then I notice a tall narrow safe tucked on the far side of the shelves. A gun safe. Wonder if Al left his guns behind. Of course the safe is locked, this one not with a key, but a numeric pad. I should give him a call and find out the code.

“Three, seven, three, four, one, zero, eight, three, four.”

I whirl around, my hand automatically reaching for the gun I’m not carrying.

Isla

“Ah, you brought me the rest!” Jen cries enthusiastically, when she spots me coming in the door to The Pony Express.

“I did. And I’m already working on more,” I respond, lifting the large tote with the heavy frames onto the counter. “I shot some of the colors yesterday and am trying something new with the edits. I worked on it all morning. Want to see?” I pull out my phone where I’ve saved a few of this morning’s edits to show her. Some of them shots I took yesterday, everything in gray tones, except for the golden yellow and deep green of the trees.

“Oh my God, these are stunning!” Jen flips through the images. “These will be perfect,” she says, looking up from the small screen of my phone.

“Perfect for what?”

“You missed him by about twenty minutes. I was gonna call you, but I just got a late lunch rush in. This guy walks in, an older man, a bit too distinguished looking for these parts,” she muses, a little smile on her face, before looking back at me. “Anyway, he ordered coffee and a sandwich and sat down there.” Jen points at a small table against the wall on the other side of the coffee shop. “Had a perfect view of your prints from there and spent most of his time scrutinizing them and taking notes in his phone while he was eating. When he brought his dishes to the counter, he wanted to know who the artist was. I didn’t want to just give out your name, so I hope you don’t mind I asked him why he wanted to know.” The excitement is clear on her face as she claps her hands together. “Have you hear of Colorado In View? That new gallery in Durango?” When I shake my head, she explains. “It’s fabulous. I think it opened some time last year. I was there in the spring. Sculptures, paintings, tapestries, pottery, and photography. The one common theme of all; the art on display is Colorado through the eyes of the artist. He owns the place. The guy who was here. He wants to do an exhibition of your work.” Her last words come out as one, as if she’s barely able to contain herself.

“Seriously?” Is all I manage to get out, as my eyes drift to my prints on the wall. Jen nods eagerly.

“Yup. And he left a card. His name is Ryan DeGroot. Wants you to call him and set up an appointment.”

“Can you do it? Organize it?” I immediately ask, my glance shooting back to her. I’m suddenly scared. Selling pictures from a small local coffee shop is one thing, but taking a huge step closer to my dream like this, is a whole different kettle of fish. What if he sees me for the hobbyist I am? I mean, I was a professional newspaper photographer, but that doesn’t qualify me as an artist. I do better staying behind the camera, where I’m comfortable.

“Me?” Jen asks. “You want me to set this up?”

“Yes,” I nod. “I do. I want you to act as my agent. You’re poised, you’re professional, you know how to handle people, and you know my work well.” I lean over the counter and cover her hand with mine. “I trust you more than I trust myself with this,” I give her the truth.

Slowly her face brightens with a smile as she sandwiches my hand in both of hers.

“How fast can you get me an online gallery set up? Make sure you watermark everything you upload.” Jen is suddenly all business, pulling a pad and paper toward her and jotting down notes. “This new series. Call it Colorado Gold, it sounds lush, just like the shots. The prints should go on board, no more than a quarter inch, no frame. Just a hint of wrap around. I’ll find out if SouthWest can do the job. If not, I’ll find someone. Do you have twelve prints? He wants to start with twelve prints to fit one long wall in the gallery.”

She’s writing furiously while I’m standing there, gasping for air like a fish on dry land, barely able to contain everything she’s telling me.

“How fast, Isla?” The repeat of the question breaks through my apathy and my mind scrambles to catch up.

“Three days to finish up the edits and set up the online gallery. SouthWest does the board mounting. I was just there and ordered one done like that. When you call them, ask for Nate. Tell him it’s for me.” I’m already mentally flipping through all the images I could use, while pulling the prints I brought with me from the tote bag.

“I’ll call Ryan tomorrow, if not this afternoon. Find out what his commission is and work out any details. I’ll call you,” she adds quickly, as I’m already moving to the door.

“Sounds good.” I wave and let the door slam shut behind me.

I’m almost halfway up the mountain when I realize I didn’t stop to pick up food. I’m eager to get home, but I remind myself I’m not alone. Not anymore. A little reluctantly, I turn around and head back to town.

-

I realize he didn’t hear me come up over the din of the generator, when I see him whip around, his body immediately in a defensive position.

“Sorry,” I mouth, quickly switching off the noise. “I didn’t realize you couldn’t hear me.”

Ben bends down, his hands braced on his knees and head hanging low.

I just got back and dumped the bottle of wine, the steaks, and the rest of the groceries in the trailer, before going in search of Ben and finding him at the gun safe.

“Uncle Al left two hunting rifles and a hand gun in there. Just in case. He has me keep a shotgun in the trailer too, but I don’t know how much good that’ll do, I won’t be able to shoot it. I promised him I’d practice, but I haven’t yet. Not sure my stomach can take aiming at anything. Even a coke can,” I ramble, feeling guilty for scaring him.

“Where’s the shotgun?” he asks, his head still down.

“I stuck it in the back of the closet. The box of shells are in there, too,” I admit, watching as he shakes his head.

“I’ll teach you,” he finally says.

“Okay. Sorry if I scared you.”

“Good thing I have my gun in the glove compartment in the truck,” he mutters, before straightening up. I walk straight into his arms, burying my face in the middle of his chest.

“My pictures are going up in a real gallery,” I mumble.

“Say what?” he asks, loosening his grip and taking a step back.

“An art gallery in Durango wants to exhibit my work,” I say a little louder, unable to keep the smug grin off my face.

“No shit?”

“No shit,” I shoot back at him.

“Fuck, that’s amazing.” I love the way small lines appear at the corners of his eyes when he smiles big. His light eyes warm and his face is unusually open. He’s normally quite grim looking, but when he looks at me I can see his whole face soften. He reaches out his hand and I entwine my fingers with his. “Tell me about it.”

“Are you done here? Then come inside with me, I’ll tell you while I get dinner going.”

Instead of starting dinner, we end up cuddled on the couch, each with a beer in hand, while I give him all the details.

“I’d better get those potatoes in foil or they won’t be done in time,” I finally say, casting a longing glance at my laptop, before getting up.

“What’s for dinner?” Ben asks, getting up right behind me.

“Baked potato, bagged salad, and steak, which I should probably marinate for a bit. I also brought home wine to celebrate.”

Ben slips his arms around me from behind, while I scrape the potatoes clean under the tap.

“Leave dinner to me,” he mumbles, with his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“But you said...” I start protesting, when he tilts my head back and cuts me off with a hard kiss.

“I can handle baked potatoes and salad from a bag. I told you I can do meat.” His wicked grin gets my skin tingling; for a second I’m considering forfeiting my laptop and dinner to have my way with Ben instead. “Go,” he growls, plunging his face in my neck. “Before I take you up on those dirty thoughts spinning through your head.”

I feel his teeth graze the tender skin at the base of my neck, before he reaches around and turns off the tap, pressing a towel in my hand. I turn around as I dry my hands and smile up at him.

“Thank you,” I tell him softly, lifting up on tiptoes to kiss his scruffy jaw.

“Go,” he says again, giving me a tap on my butt when I walk past him.