Chapter Eighteen
“Adam, hold up, please.”
He didn’t even bother to swallow his groan or hide his frustration. He’d been waiting for Shelby to run him to ground the past two days. No doubt half the ranch hands had witnessed Emily’s breakdown and the other half probably her hasty retreat. If he’d been a lesser man, he would have left and broken his contract, but he couldn’t do that to the Marks or Sky Lake. Kids and families were counting on the place and that meant they were counting on him. Just this morning a young boy had hugged him and declared his roping session “the best thing ever.” He was helping to make memories in Fly Creek.
But, lord, he was not ready for the gossip lecture patrol.
“Ma’am.”
Shelby handed him a basket. “Apple tarts.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“I put Levi in your place today.”
He set the basket down. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you need some time.”
“Time for what?”
“Don’t poker up to me, Adam Conley. Now, you’re both hurting. Use this gift I’m giving you to figure it out.”
“If it’s all the same to you, ma’am, I’d rather work.”
“I’m sure you would, you damn cowboy-to-your-toes. But sometimes it’s when we’re not burying our problems and pretending they don’t exist, or that there’s no solution, that the answer actually seems really simple.”
Adam scuffed his boot through the dirt, unsure of what to do with the woman in front of him.
“And before you get in your head that the whole town’s talking, I told you once before. We take care of our own.” She hugged him. “And that includes you.”
Shelby walked away, leaving him standing in front of a stall. Snagging a tart, he popped it in his mouth and waited for the anger to surface over her presumption of this “gift.”
It wouldn’t come. He knew pity. He knew small-town gossip. Shelby hadn’t shown either of them to him. And come to think of it, neither had anyone else the past two days since Emily had left.
No, Fly Creek had carried on the way it always had. No whispering or stilted conversations when he entered the room. No knowing glances or snide comments about Emily. If everyone did know, they certainly weren’t sharing.
Another feather in a cap that had changed perspective over the past forty-eight hours. Two days without Emily. Without seeing or hearing from her. Without knowing if he ever would. Two days where his past and future seemed more similar than not and the prospect didn’t have him planning a route to a new town and career.
He’d realized during the time he’d been helping Emily deal and overcome her past, Fly Creek and Sky Lake had been doing the same to him. He finally recognized he was running from a person and the story, not the place itself.
And although he didn’t want to be a rancher for life, there were other things he was cut out for. Maybe Shelby had been a little more than a nosy hen when she gave him the application for the Bureau of Land Management. Their wild mustang program seemed tailor made for him. But these were options and decisions he could make later. Right now he needed to figure out what Emily was thinking and more importantly how she was feeling. Both with the upheaval he brought to her doorstep and even more importantly how she viewed him and them.
Had she had the time to even attempt to see things from his side? To remember the times they’d spent together. To remember the connection they’d formed that had nothing to do with a promise or their pasts.
He wasn’t ready to seek her out, but maybe a trip into town wouldn’t be remiss.
Fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of the Wagon Train. A quick drive by had shown a closed sign on the Painted Glass. After finding a way to breathe again, he told himself it was only natural that Emily would take some time to process. It didn’t mean anything permanent. Not yet at least.
Walking through the diner’s door, he glanced around to see a pretty light crowd. Everyone smiled or waved, and he returned the gesture with complete authenticity. These were the locals. The ones he’d gotten used to seeing.
Settling into a booth, Toby popped over. “Usual, Mr. Conley?”
Startled, he let his question show.
“Western Omelet with salsa on the side and a black coffee.”
He nodded unsure words were possible. He had a usual. A regular order. And Toby knew it, and even more, he bet the cook, Wanda, would make sure the edges were slightly crisp and his home fries were extra peppered.
Toby returned with his coffee, and Adam thanked him. His gaze was drawn to the square across the street, and memories of Emily in his cowboy hat rose up.
He’d made a mistake. A mistake in not confessing, in not trusting her and the strength he’d witnessed that she would be able to handle the truth.
“Adam.”
He stopped short of groaning and managed to set his coffee down and smile at the woman currently sliding into the booth across from him. The lecture, the public put down was on its way. Polly had warned him the town would be watching. He’d hurt Emily, and he would have to pay.
“What can I do for you?”
She handed over a tin container, the kind that had a picturesque scene painted on the lid. “Made these for you. Special recipe and I don’t make them for everyone.”
It seemed today was a day for baked goods from well-meaning women. He lifted the lid only to be assaulted by a combination of strawberry and molasses that had his taste buds drooling. “I’m honored and maybe a little bit scared.”
“As you should be. Your future is hanging in the balance.”
He opened and shut his mouth several times but couldn’t figure out what to say. That he knew how precarious his happiness was. That things in Fly Creek might not be what he thought. That he’d somehow become a part of a town and the town a part of him.
“Anyway, I was hoping you could do something for me.”
He didn’t dare shoot her down. Not after she’d baked him cookies. “If I can, I would be happy to.”
“Could you make me some tables?”
The town’s nosiest gossip next to Shelby Marks was bribing him with cookies so he could build her tables.
“Tables?”
“Small end ones similar to what’s on your deck?”
“How do you…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. This woman should join forces with Shelby Marks and open their own detective agency. “Never mind. Do they need to be a certain size?”
They traded information back and forth while Toby set his food in front of him and returned with a muffin and tea for Polly.
“Oh, I mentioned to Lana Trowbridge that you might be able to lend a hand for the sets for the high school musical in the spring.”
Adam opened his mouth to tell her he wouldn’t be here in the spring, but it snapped shut. He wanted to be here in the spring. He wanted his tables sitting in Polly’s living room. He wanted to come here next week, and the week after, and have Toby place his usual order. He wanted to see how his benches held up over the harsh winter, and how many other home-baked goods townspeople might throw his, or someone else’s, way when they were struggling or needed support.
And he wanted all of this with Emily by his side. Fly Creek had become a stopping point but it wouldn’t be a home without Emily. Without her smile or artist viewpoint. Without her take on why Wyoming was “more.” Without her outlook on a life that had thrown so much her way and yet she’d survived it and emerged stronger.
“Will you excuse me, Polly?” He threw some money on the table covering both their meals and placed his hat on his head. She smiled over the edge of her teacup.
Waving farewell to the rest of the diner, he pushed through the door and hurried to his truck, plans forming and taking shape in his mind. He didn’t even spare the Painted Glass a glance as he drove out of town. The time would come to seek out Emily and let her know his revelations and his dreams, but right now he needed to put things in motion. A gesture that not even Emily would be able to misinterpret.
…
“You sure you don’t need me to come?” Adam asked for the third time that morning.
Levi smiled and threw his deployment bag into the bed of the truck. “Nah. It’s just a few signatures and handing over the keys. I doubt anyone thought the property would go so soon. And now that I’m relocating for the near future to Fly Creek, I figured I’d grab some stuff from storage.” Levi walked back toward him. “Besides, you have an interview, baby bro.”
Adam smiled. The thought of returning home to Colorado didn’t thrill him, but it also didn’t paralyze him with anger, either. Levi had handled the brunt of everything for too long and if he needed Adam, Adam would be there.
A quick hug and clap on the shoulder and Levi headed for his truck.
“Hey,” Adam called. “Drive safe and hurry back. I won’t have a moment’s peace from Shelby until you do.”
Levi stopped, one booted foot on the running board, and shrugged. “Can’t help it if she likes me better.” He fixed his hat. “You better fix it with Emily before I get back and she realizes I’m the better Conley.”
Adam laughed. “You probably are, but I’m not going to tell her that even if I ever get her to talk to me again.”
“She’ll come around. It was a lot for anyone to handle and take in.” His brother slid in and shut the door, lowering the window. “By the way, I expect my cabin to be in perfect shape when I get back.”
“Your cabin?”
Levi grinned. “Shelby said it was mine when you finally moved out.”
Adam laughed. “Of course she did. She’s a manipulator of the best kind.”
He tipped his hat as Levi left a trail of dust on his way out of Sky Lake and Fly Creek. His brother’s mention of Emily settled the familiar loss in his heart. She was his priority right now. He hadn’t expected to hear from her. He knew it would take more than words to convince her not only of his sincerest apologies but of his love. He loved her, and if she took too much longer, he might need to see if this nosy little town he’d become a part of would be willing to give her a swift kick in the butt.
Adam locked the cabin and set off down the road. He had a trail ride to lead and future plans to nail down, including which room in his new cabin would make the best spot for a studio.
…
Emily entered the store and locked the door behind her. Her trip to Cheyenne had been informative, and the painting she leaned against the wall conjured up all sorts of ideas. While she still wasn’t sure of the sip part of a Paint and Sip party, the painting part had been joyous. She’d purposely messed up here and there, not wanting to tip her hat to the artist leading the little shindig. She felt like a spy taking notes on what worked and what didn’t, but she wasn’t planning on copying anything, just utilizing it as research to determine the best course for her new idea. A combination of Shelby’s class suggestion and Peyton’s parties. Peyton would crow like a rooster when she told her.
She climbed the steps and after pulling on some pajamas and pouring a glass of wine, Emily pulled the cedar box out from under the bed. Opening the lid, the picture smiled up at her and she smiled back. She’d been through the gamut of emotions over the past few days. Anger, humiliation, and shock high on the list. She’d replayed every moment of her and Drew’s relationship, and looking back now she realized how much the trauma of losing him had made her overlook stuff. His odd hours over the course of their time together. Canceling plans at the last moment with the flimsiest of excuses. How when they were together he would be distracted and alert at the same time. The feeling that he wasn’t telling her everything, although she’d never thought everything would encompass what it did.
None of that meant anything to her at the time. He was as attentive and loving as he could have been, especially now that she knew the circumstances.
She’d felt betrayed by him and a small part still did. The part that said she’d wasted three years of her life mourning him when he hadn’t really died. But the truth was, she still lost him. He’d abruptly disappeared from her life in a traumatic way and mourning him, and what they had, wasn’t a waste.
Hugging the picture to her chest she said one final prayer for Drew and closed that chapter. What they may or may not have had didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t affect who she wanted to be. He’d given her a gift. A chance, through Adam and even though she doubted he could have predicted just how Adam would make her happy, she sent a silent thanks for his continuing concern after he left her life.
Placing the picture back in the box, she slid it under the bed and pulled out her yoga mat. She was too restless to attempt sleep yet. Only this time it wasn’t due to thoughts of her past but questions about her future.
An hour later, Emily lay in savasana, the corpse pose, bringing to an end her yoga session. Polly, upon learning she practiced the art, convinced her to contact the local senior center about teaching a weekly class. She had no idea how seventy-year-olds did downward dog, but she sure as heck looked forward to it.
Sitting up, she rolled her mat and slid it back under her bed. Still wide awake, she crossed into the kitchen and set water to boil, and that’s when the familiar itch settled into her fingers.
She needed to paint.
Clicking the stove off, she hurried downstairs and quickly set up a blank canvas. She reached for her oils but something had her pulling her hand back and grabbing the watercolors instead. She never questioned her artistic choices and went with the flow. Her subconscious having already made decisions before it chose to reveal the reasoning to Emily. Setting the brushes up and placing the Mason jars of water down, she stood in front of the canvas and closed her eyes.
What do I want to paint?
The image came so fast and sharp that its intensity had her stepping back. She opened her eyes and mixed the colors and laid her first stroke down, the paint bleeding to fade, the way watercolors were wont to do.
A little more red.
Thirty minutes later the left side of the picture was in focus, the hand sharp and soft, strong and encouraging. She knew what the right side wanted to be. What it looked like in her mind, and if she was honest, in her heart, but her brain questioned it.
Her brain reminded her of the moment in Adam’s cabin when the truth came tumbling out. Reminded her of the distrust of anything that had occurred between the two of them. Basically her brain wanted her to go back to the way things were before she went to the bar on that Friday night. But she knew that was an impossible ideal. She had a taste of a new life and, dammit, it was intoxicating. It beckoned her, making promises it may not be able to keep, and she was afraid. She couldn’t go back, but she wasn’t sure she could go forward. At least in regards to this, and that left her nowhere.
Emily let her eyes trace the hand on her canvas. Funny that in less than a month she knew every wrinkle, every crease on it, and every callus. It called to her, outstretched, willing her to place her hand in it and let them support one another in the next step of their joined lives. And she knew they could. If they let one another. And truthfully, the risk wouldn’t just be hers.
That was, if he was even willing to think about a risk.
They hadn’t spoken since that day, and to be honest until this moment she hadn’t known if she would ever speak to him again, but subconsciously she’d been working through their memories. She knew she wouldn’t be where she was today without what she’d gone through with him. Drew might have directed him to her, but Adam had actively worked with her.
She’d even gone so far as to try and place herself in his shoes. How would she have gone about fulfilling such a promise under the circumstances? There were many ways to bring someone back into the world of the living. Easier, less emotionally connected ways.
But Adam hadn’t chosen easy. And even if he’d made mistakes, he’d also taken risks.
Swishing her brush in the water, she took a deep breath and then with a new color began painting her hand in his. And in that moment, three years of fear broke its anchor and floated away on the cloud of happiness that enveloped her. She would fight for this new future with him.
Even if it meant she had to leave.
…
It was two more days before the painting was complete. She worked on it in between every customer, summer always being her busiest time with the tourist trade. Sofie called, her funny sense working like clockwork again. Emily told her sister everything, leaving Sofie speechless, for what might have been the first time in their lives. At the end of the call, her sister told her she wanted to come out to Wyoming, and they agreed to make concrete plans as soon as Emily got other things squared away. Peyton left a box of cookies for Emily, some strawberry molasses concoction that she devoured in one sitting and promised her that if they couldn’t bring a smile to her face, nothing would. They had, but she already held a secret permanent smile.
Somehow this painting had become her declaration. The embodiment of her decision to face fear, loss, and everything in her past. To accept it all as a part of this new life. And she wanted Adam to have it. She’d framed it in a wood that matched the cabin, and she hoped he would recognize it for what it was. Her commitment to trying together to find a way to the future. To a joint home. The first piece to make it theirs. But did he still want her?
She shook her head. If he didn’t, she would change his mind. Now that she’d tasted happiness and released the hold on her past, she wasn’t giving up without the fight of her life.