Chapter Three
Bethany
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh country air. The smell of fresh-cut hay was on the breeze, and the sunlight dappled through the trees. Opening my eyes, I took in the view of the endless blue sky, not mired by smog or tall city buildings, and the lovely green pastures beyond.
My paintbrush moved along the canvas, and slowly, the image of the ranch house began to take shape, nestled between the trees with the tall, flowing grass waving in the breeze. The painting had depth, movement, and a feeling of abundant life.
My first commissioned piece was coming together nicely, but I couldn't say the same about my search for Frank Hill. I'd driven into Riverbend on my second day at the ranch and gone to the general store. They didn't have much in the way of art supplies, but that wasn't the real reason I was there. I needed to know about the townspeople and if he really lived there.
The private investigator I'd hired in Chicago had discovered Frank Hill had a post office box in Riverbend, but he still couldn't find a residential address. If he had a phone number, it was an unlisted one.
So, I'd placed ads in the communities surrounding Riverbend, advertising my services. When Margie called and offered me job creating five paintings of Hutchinson Ranch, just a few miles outside of Riverbend, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to go there and look for him myself.
I hadn't thought through just how difficult that would be, however, even in a small town like Riverbend. The first few days I was at the ranch, I looked for as many excuses as I could to go to Riverbend. I walked up and down Main Street, browsing in the shops, talking to the residents.
I tried to keep it casual, asking, "Are all your customers lifelong residents of Riverbend, or is there anyone around who moved here recently, maybe even from the city?"
"You ask a lot of questions," one shopkeeper complained. "Are you an artist or a journalist?"
"I'm just trying to get a feel for the area. It helps me when I paint to understand the history of the area, especially for something as personal as painting someone's home."
"So the Hutchinsons are really considering selling their ranch," the shopkeeper mused, and I got the feeling he was happy about it.
"What? No!" A young woman, about my age, came out of the storage room and slumped against the cash register. "The Hutchinsons are leaving?"
"I don't know that for sure," I felt the need to reassure her. She was pretty, with red hair and pale-blue eyes. Her nametag said Alyssa, and she was clearly worried about the ranch. I said to her "Margie hired me to make a painting for each of her sons. I don't know why."
It became clear afterwards that all the townspeople of Riverbend knew all the personal business of everyone else, including the residents of the nearby ranches. If I kept asking around town about Frank, someone would tip him off. If he was there, he could disappear again.
In the days since, I stayed on the ranch and concentrated on my art instead. Brett took me all around the ranch, showing me the fields and sheds, taking me for a walk along the outer reaches of the property line, and ending back at the barn.
"I'll need a place to set my paintings at the end of each day so they can dry," I told him.
"Why not in here?" Brett suggested, indicating the old barn near Colton's office. "If you set your stuff in the back corner, no one will disturb it. It's warm and dry, and you'll have plenty of room."
"Thanks."
"I'll help you carry your easel and canvasses in here if you want. I know they're heavy."
"You really are a great guy," I smiled.
He leaned against the wall just behind me, flexing his muscles as he drew close to me. "What do you say I show you where the lake is tonight? It's prettiest in the moonlight, but not as pretty as you."
He leaned in to kiss me then, and I pushed him back with a strong shove. "Whoa. What do you think you're doing?"
Brett looked shocked and completely embarrassed. "I thought you liked me."
"As a friend. Not like that. Besides, don't you have a girlfriend?"
"The pastor's daughter? No, there's nothing between Emma and me."
"Then why did you know exactly who I was talking about?" He didn't have an answer for that, but I spared him the attempt by taking his hand in mine and squeezing it like a close friend.
"You're a nice guy, Brett, but you come on way too strong. Stop with the act and try to figure out who you really are as a man. Then you'll be able to have a real relationship with a girl who likes you for who you really are – maybe even the pastor's daughter."
He pulled his hand free from mine. He looked down and concentrated on rolling a rock on the ground with the toe of his boot as he contemplated what I'd said.
"What if Emma doesn't like the real me?” he asked tentatively.
"Then she's a fool," I said, and Brett cracked a small smile. Touching his shoulder I said to him "Give her chance. I don't think you'll be disappointed."
"Thanks." Brett flashed me that grin of his, and I smiled to myself as I watched him leave.
Alone in the barn, I looked at my completed painting one last time. It was a view of the ranch house from across the pasture. It didn't quite capture the majesty of seeing it in real life, but it was an adequate representation, and I was satisfied with the realism.
For some reason, I thought it would appeal to Brett. I'd caught him standing at the edge of pasture staring back at the ranch house with a wistful expression on several occasions. When I'd painted it, I'd thought of him.
Now I just had to create a painting for each of his four brothers. It was a daunting task, but I was enjoying the challenge. Margie had told me she wanted each of her sons to have something that would make them feel like they were still home, and that's exactly what intended to give them.
I plucked up my sketch pad and headed out of the barn. The sun was mid-sky, and I wouldn't need to help Margie prepare dinner for hours. I enjoyed spending time with her in the kitchen.
My own mother had never been much of a cook, but I'd always longed to have the kind of relationship with her where we could stand side-by-side in the kitchen, preparing food and talking with each other. Although I had only known her about a week, Margie was becoming the mother I'd always wished I'd had.
As I left the barn, Colton was just leaving his office across the way. His dark suit contrasted nicely against the blue sky behind him, making for a striking image.
He walked the short distance to the stable where Whiskey waited for him. He put his hands on the animal's long face and stroked it tenderly. She leaned into him, and it was easy to see the deep affection they shared. When he scratched behind her ears, she whinnied appreciatively. Then he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out some sort of treat that he fed to her.
She nuzzled his hand when it was gone, wanting more, and he chuckled lightly. It was a pleasant sound, and I realized that it was the first time I'd ever heard him laugh. While his brothers were light hearted and constantly joking and teasing one another, Colton was extremely serious, as if he had something important on his mind.
Of course, I knew that was because he had an enormous weight on his shoulders. The ranch was in financial trouble, and he felt responsible for saving it. I couldn't imagine what it must be like to be under that kind of pressure. I wouldn't have thought he had a care in the world, seeing him now with Whiskey.
When he had first come out of his office, his posture had been so tense. Now, after spending just a few moments with Whiskey, he was relaxed and happy.
I liked seeing him that way, and I was moved to start sketching him. My hand started moving across my sketchpad, creating his eyes as they gazed at his beloved horse. The softness of his smile contrasted with the strength of his jawline. His nose was just a little bit crooked, like maybe it had been broken long before, and I knew there was a story there. The minor imperfection added to the perfection of the whole, and I couldn't help but admire what a handsome man he was.
I was preparing to sketch his hand stroking the horse when suddenly, he looked over at me and our eyes locked. My heart beat rapidly as he said goodbye to the horse and walked straight towards me.
Crap! I couldn't let him know I'd been sketching him. I closed my pad rapidly and shoved it behind my back.
"How long have you been standing there?" Colton asked.
"I was just leaving the barn," I stammered.
"You don't strike me as the type to hang out in musty barns."
"I'm not. Brett suggested it would be the best place to store my canvasses while they dry, so I was just putting one away."
"The one you've been painting of the house? It looks really good. It's like I'm out in the pasture, looking back at home."
"Thank you." My cheeks colored at the compliment. "I didn't realize you'd seen my work."
"Of course, I did. I've been watching from a distance," he said, and my eyes grew wide. Chuckling lightly, he continued, "Nothing creepy. I just mean I've seen you out in the field whenever I would pass by working, and I couldn't help but peek at your canvas."
"It's okay." I flushed. "I have to stop and watch whenever I see someone else painting at SAIC."
"Is that where you learned your technique? Your shadows and light are particularly good and create a true sense of realism."
"You've studied art?" I couldn't mask my surprise.
"Not really, but my roommate was dating an artist when I was getting my MBA."
"You have an MBA?"
"Does that surprise you?"
"No. Yes. I mean, I guess it sort of does. When you think of cowboys working out on a cattle ranch, you don't automatically think of degrees in business strategy. I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound bitchy."
"It's okay." Colton's eyes were dancing, and an easy grin creased his cheeks. God, he was sexy . "I feel the same way. I grew up on this ranch, and all I ever wanted to do was ride horses, work cattle, and be a cowboy. The last place I ever saw myself was sitting behind a desk analyzing spreadsheets."
"So, why did you do it?"
"My father needed me to. We live in a world of computers and the internet. Our ranch was going to wither away if we couldn't keep up with the times. Of course, it could wither away, anyway. But, I did what I had to do."
"I'm sorry the ranch is in trouble. I understand if you need to cancel the contract your mother and I made for the paintings."
"No." Colton shook his head. "My mother hired you to create five paintings, and I'll be damned if I'm going to fire you behind her back. We'll find a way to make it all work. Don't worry about that. I think this quarter we're finally going to show a profit."
"If you're sure," I said. As much as I wanted this job, I didn't want be a financial burden to them. The Hutchinsons were good people, and I liked them.
"I'm sure. I like having you around, and having the paintings will be something my family can cherish for generations."
"Thanks." It had never occurred to me that the work I was doing could be hanging on their walls for that long, but I liked the sound of it. My hands dropped from behind my back to hang at my sides, and Colton saw the sketch pad I was still holding in my right hand.
"Hey, what are working on now?" He reached for it, and I pulled it just out of his reach.
"Oh, nothing. It's just my doodle pad. There's nothing in it," I squeaked. I couldn't let him see that I'd been sketching him, or he'd realize I had developed a crush on him.
"Oh, don't give me that load of manure. I know that's where you draw your ideas before you paint them. What are going to paint next? Let me see. I won't make fun, I promise."
"No. It's nothing. I'm blocked. I have no idea what I'm going to paint next."
"Blocked?"
"Yes. It's like writers block, only for artists. I have absolutely no idea what to paint next," I insisted. He looked back at the horizon and when he turned back and locked eyes with mine, I knew he believed me.
"Blocked, huh?" he asked, and I nodded my head. His eyes softened, and he took my hand in his. Pulling me forward, he grinned. "I know just what you need to get unblocked."