Chapter Twenty-One
Bethany
"Thanks for everything." My voice caught in my throat as I hugged Margie Hutchinson goodbye. When we separated, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the small handful of cash I had tried to secretly place there.
"What's this for?" she gawked at the bills.
"It's the money you paid me for the first half of the job. I can't accept it."
"Don't be ridiculous." She thrust the cash back at me. "You did the work. It's not your fault the paintings burned in the fire."
"But you didn't get the product that you paid for. It's not right for me to keep the money."
"Listen to me." She put the cash in my hands and gently closed my fingers into in a fist. She clasped her hands over mine and spoke firmly but lovingly. "I didn't purchase a product, I paid for a service. I paid for you to make five paintings here on the ranch. I was paying for your time and effort. It doesn't matter what happened to the pictures after you were done."
"Thank you, Margie." I hugged her tight, and she wrapped her arms around me tightly, like a mother should. When we were done, I shoved the money into my pocket, and she handed me a tissue to dab my eyes and wipe my nose.
Then I smiled at her and said, "I still feel bad that you didn't end up with anything for your money."
"I don't. Where would I have put five paintings? My walls are already full with commemorative plates, lucky horseshoes, and stuffed animal heads from the boys hunting trips. I just have room for one painting, and as luck would have it, that's what you still owe me."
"I'm going home today. That's what I told everybody I would do, and my mother is expecting me this evening. I'll make the final painting from Chicago and ship it to you here."
"Oh, horse crap. Just finish it here. You've got real life views to inspire you, and it will be so much better than if you try to paint the country from inside the city based just on memory."
"But Mom is expecting me."
"Oh, come on. You don't even have to do a painting, just one of your sketches. Draw one up will quick, and you can still leave by noon. You'll be home in plenty of time, and I'll be satisfied that you did the job I hired you to do."
"I guess that could work." I hesitated. "And, I do want my first client to be satisfied, but..."
"But what?" Margie glowered.
"I had such an ugly fight with Colton last night. I wanted to leave without having to run into him again."
"Don't worry about Colton. I'll take care of him," she assured me. The twinkle in her eye should have warned me that she was up to something, but I chose to ignore it and blindly put my trust in her.
"Okay. I'll make one last drawing," I agreed, and Margie clasped her hands together with glee.
I grabbed my sketch pad, a couple of charcoal pencils, my lighter, and a pocket knife for sharpening the pencils and shoved them all in a bag. I added a bottle of water and a snack bag of cookies, and I was ready to go.
Colton and Travis were busy working around the ash heap that used to be the barn, and I circled wide around them to avoid contact. I ended up at the equipment shed were all the horses had been moved to in the middle of the night and backed right into Brett.
"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me," the brash young man teased.
"Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," I stumbled, trying to regain my composure.
"What are you doing out here? I thought you were leaving," he said, but then a thought occurred to him and he said sadly, "Or did you come to say goodbye."
"Not quite yet. I still have one last picture to make, and I promised your mother I would sketch it for her before I left. So, I just came out here trying to get some inspiration on what to draw."
"Well, that should be easy. Every place you turn your head you'll see something beautiful out here," he said wistfully, and I could tell he truly loved his home.
"I know, but I wanted each piece I made to be unique to each of your brothers. For you, I made the ranch house as it looks when you're coming home from the pasture. For Tom, I painted your mother's garden. Travis, it was the forest trees bordering the pasture, and William, it was the bull looking out over the herd."
"Sounds like the only one you have left is for Colton," Brett observed. I was glad he had said it, because I was avoiding saying his name.
"Yeah." I nodded.
"Well, that's easy. Let Whiskey take you wherever she wants to go. Nobody knows Colton better than that horse, except maybe for you. She'll take you to the perfect place to draw for my big brother."
"All your brothers are bigger than you," I laughed good naturedly.
"Yeah, but somehow Colton always feels like the biggest. He's not taller, or smarter, or faster, but he's the oldest and the most like our dad had been. I guess that's because he got to spend the most time with him. When I talk about my big brother, I always mean Colton."
I could see why Brett would feel that way, but I didn't like dwelling on Colton. The fractures of my broken heart were too painful. All I wanted to do was get this sketch done so I could get the hell away from this ranch and all the sentiments that came with it. Taking Brett's advice and riding Whiskey seemed like the fastest way to make that happen.
"Thanks," I said. Brett helped me saddle the horse and climb onto her back. The even-tempered quarter horse sensed my lack of riding skills and took it easy on me. She walked slowly around the grounds and then worked her way up to a gentle trot. She found the familiar path into the forest that Colton had taken me on and followed it along the river until we came to the apple tree where Colton and I had spent a romantic afternoon.
"It's perfect." I smiled at the horse, grateful that she had known the ideal place to personify Colton.
I let Whiskey graze on the wild grass while I sat on a nearby log and sketched the scene. Summer was at its peak and the branches of the old apple tree were heavy with ripe fruit. Birds perched among the leaves, singing happy songs with their bellies full, while the breeze blew gently through the air.
My pencil sketched the outline of the quarter horse's brown head. Her large, round eyes were like a mirror to her soul, framed by the wispy strands of her mane. I drew the lines of her round muscles and slender legs as she bent her head to eat the grass, ending with her long tail flicking lightly around her. The wisps of grass flitted up around her hooves, with delicate flowers peeking up here and there.
My pencil filled in shadows around the beautiful animal standing beneath the magnificent tree, and I had to pause and smile. It was a wonderful picture, perfect in every way, and I felt immense pride in my work.
This was the way I wanted to end my time here at Hutchinson Ranch. This was the masterpiece befitting of how peaceful it was to live here, and one I would be pleased to give to Margie when I said my final goodbye to her.
I shut my sketch book and noticed for the first time how low the sun had gotten in the sky. My stomach rumbled and I reached for my bag, leaning against the log beside me. I'd eaten the bag of cookies long before, and my water bottle was nearly empty. I figured I’d better eat one of the apples from the tree before heading back home to the ranch.
It would be dark by the time I got there, so it looked liked I would have to stay one more night and go home to Chicago in the morning.
My mother would be disappointed – or maybe she wouldn't. It was hard to tell with Jillian if she cared about me at all, or even liked me. When I'd texted her that morning saying that I would be getting a late start, it had taken her hours to text me back. When she did, all she had to say was, "Don't hurry back."
Having finished my apple, I tossed the core in the shrubs for the animals to eat and started packing my art supplies back into my bag. Whiskey whinnied beside me.
"Ready to go home?" I asked her, and she nudged my hand with her nose. Smiling, I pet her there and said "Me, too."
It startled to me realized I meant the ranch and not Chicago. I felt more like a stranger in the place I should call home, and more at home in the place I didn't belong. Sighing heavily, I wished there was a way to change my fate, but it was already too late.