by Jon Keys
Mason grinned at Colin before realizing Colin couldn’t see him under all the layers of fabric. He mapped out the trip in his mind and realized the typical five-minute drive would take closer to an hour tonight. With the wipers on high, he shifted his 4x4 into low gear and began the crawling drive to his cabin.
COLIN SAT without saying a word. He’d spent most of the trip with a death grip on the door handle of Mason’s truck. Now that they were stopped, it thrilled him to see the small cabin a few feet away.
He glanced toward Mason, who seemed to read his thoughts. “It’s not the Grand Lodge or something, but it has heat and food. Better than stuck on the side of the road.”
Colin had started to unwind himself from the layers of quilts and blankets when Mason signaled for him to wait.
“Stay where it’s warm. I’ll get the fire started, then help you into the house.”
Colin started to argue but realized he was sore from the beating he took from the wreck. He curled into the seat and sighed. “That seems to be a good plan. I think traveling the distance to your front door may be as much of a challenge as I can handle today.”
“Sounds sensible. Exactly what I wanted while I get things set up. Stay here and keep out of the cold.”
Colin tightened the quilts around him while Mason prepared everything. With his cooperation ensured, Mason turned and fought the gale to get to his house. The scene unfolding was enough to gnaw at Colin’s concern. He huddled in the pickup’s warmth, drifting in and out of sleep.
The door flew open and woke Colin. He sensed Mason tugging at him. “Stay as covered as possible, and I’ll help you out of the storm. I’ve got a fire started, so when we get inside, I’ll get you next to the heat.”
Colin followed the instructions Mason had given him, relieved that was all he needed to do. He barely made out the ghost of Mason’s home. They moved at a quick clip with Mason’s thick arms giving Colin support as they struggled through the storm. He stumbled across the stairs as they made for the entryway. Snow was already swirling when Mason shut the door, and the sound of howling winds came to an abrupt stop. True to his word, the small cabin had a fireplace that took up almost the entirety of one wall, a beautiful stonework Colin guessed was built of material found on the property.
As if he read Colin’s mind, Mason explained, “A friend of mine is fantastic at building rock fireplaces. We did a little trading, and I got a beautiful work of art.”
He guided Colin to an overstuffed chair on one side of the roaring fire before bundling him.
“There. You should warm up now. I’ll make us something hot to drink. Nothing like Mexican hot chocolate to take the edge off.”
Colin chuckled a little, comforted already. “Does that mean it has a dash of tequila? Because I wouldn’t turn down a shot to help warm up.”
Mason laughed as he stripped off his heavy outer clothing and tossed it onto a nearby bench. “I’ll look. I think a friend of mine gave me a bottle a few years ago. He loves the stuff and told me what he brought back was high-end liquor.”
“Sounds wonderful, if you don’t mind sharing with a stranger.”
Mason brought together the ingredients, including the pint of tequila. A few minutes later, the scent of cinnamon and chocolate filled the room. Colin was dropping off when Mason appeared at his side, cupping the steaming mug. He scooted a coaster within reach and put the cup on it.
“Here, try some.” He flashed a wink at Colin. “This is the point where I burn my tongue and can’t taste anything for a week.”
Colin lifted the cup to his lips and blew on it before trying a drink. The heat coursed through him, awakening his body. With the second wave came the spices and flavors. After a few additional sips, he became putty huddled against the fire.
“Other than a woeful beginning and the whole almost-died-in-a-blizzard thing, this turned into a delightful time.”
Mason went about setting up the sofa bed for the night before looking up. It was obvious to Colin his compliment made Mason blush. His dark-auburn hair and pale skin accented the crimson of his cheeks. Their gazes met, and Colin gave Mason an uncharacteristic lopsided grin.
Before he continued his flattery, Mason motioned toward the bed. “The couch is better than my ten-year-old mattress in the bedroom. Besides that, the fireplace keeps this room warmer. How is the hot chocolate?”
In answer Colin gulped down the rest of his drink, then set it on the coaster. He pulled the bedding around him, then waddled across the shiny pine floor. Mason hovered beside him until he eased himself into the fragrant nest Mason had created.
He wiggled into a comfortable place on the sofa. Then he lay still until Mason finished tucking the quilts over him. He stood up with a look of satisfaction. “There, you’ll sleep well tonight. I’ll make sure and stoke the fire so it won’t get cold in here. The National Weather Service says this storm should head to Maine by early morning.”
Already reacting to the combined warmth of the drink and the fire, Colin formed a huge yawn. After a few additional jaw-popping yawns, he sank into a comfortable position, barely able to keep his eyes open.
“This is too much, Mason. But I appreciate the rescue. I wouldn’t have made it through the night in this freak blizzard. And now giving me a place to sleep…. Well, I can’t tell you how much I owe you.”
Colin fought the overwhelming fatigue that washed over him, but he was losing his battle. His final memory was of Mason running a last check on him.
COLIN WOKE to the sensation of comfort, with the growing fire sending waves of heat across his face. The sun reflected from the covering of snow that blanketed the world outside his cocoon. Unwilling to stir from his comfortable bed, he checked out the room surrounding him. It was a study in vintage that Colin could not recognize as either inherited or accumulated. Either way, it added to the comfort of the space.
A draft of chilled air slipped under his bedding, causing him to let out a squeak and burrow deeper into the blankets piled onto him. The door slammed shut, and he hurried to cover any exposed bits. About the time he thought he’d succeeded, the door opened again, plunging the room into a tundra-like cold for a second until it was closed with a bang…. He peered out to see Mason stomping his boots clean. Mason glanced up, and their eyes locked.
“Sorry. This time of the year, I keep the frozen food in a cold box outside. I thought I’d make breakfast, but it’s frozen solid, which I should have guessed. How does waffles and breakfast sausage sound?”
Colin didn’t need to consider other options. “That sounds amazing. It’s been a long time since I’ve had breakfast cooked for me at home. Probably when I drove off my last boyfriend.” He hesitated. “I hate to infringe on your time. I should call the tow truck to help with my car.”
Mason studied him for a minute, and then his demeanor changed. “It’s no trouble. It’s been years since I’ve had a guy sleep over too. After breakfast I’ll give you a ride into town so you can make arrangements with a tow truck.”
They exchanged a knowing look as Mason took off his coat and put it on the hook next to the door. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. “Enjoy the warmth, and I’ll start breakfast.”
Colin wiggled to sit up while Mason disappeared into the bedroom to return wearing a thermal shirt and a faded pair of jeans. He considered the attractive younger man but decided it wasn’t the right time or place. After all, Mason had rescued him from the wreck, brought Colin to his home, and given him a safe place to shelter from the storm. He sighed but resigned himself to not making a pass at his rescuer.
If only the timing were better. I would love to get to know Mason.
After a few minutes, the sizzle of sausage in a cast-iron skillet filled the room. The aroma floated around him until he couldn’t resist any longer. He decided he’d help Mason with the meal. A short time later, he had crawled from his cocoon and moved to Mason’s side.
Mason put together a healthy batch of batter. From the eggshells crack
ing to the splashes of milk to the final flourish of the whisk, it looked perfect. As he poured the batter over the hot skillet, the aroma of cooking filled the room. Colin was hungry. After a few seconds he offered, “I can help, if you’d like.”
Mason glanced toward him as he stirred the batter. “Sure, if you’d take care of the skillet. I put in a couple of eggs with the sausage.”
“Sounds good. I’ll take care of them.”
The next minutes trailed past in companionable silence as they worked together to get their plates on the table. The first bites told Colin what he needed to know about their breakfast. He waved his fork at Mason. “Delicious! Best food I’ve had in a long time.”
They devoured the meal in short order, and Colin was left dragging his fork through the thick maple syrup that remained after he wolfed down his meal. He realized what he was doing and laid the fork on the edge of his plate with a sheepish smile toward Mason.
“Sorry to act like a maniac. I was hungry and haven’t had breakfast that good in years. I’m lucky to get a cup of decent coffee and a piece of whole-wheat toast on my way out the door.”
“Don’t sweat it. I love to cook.” Mason glanced at his watch. “Work starts in about an hour. I’ll drop you off at the wrecker, and you can see about getting your car pulled out.”
With a nod, Colin pitched in to help restore order to Mason’s cabin. It didn’t take long before they were threading their way into town.
Chapter Three
COLIN TOOK his time as he made his way to the town of Aurora, which was the latest suggestion for someone to finish the quilt. At first he’d tried to put the box somewhere out of sight, with the hope it would become another fading memory from his dysfunctional family. To Colin’s disappointment, that didn’t happen.
Instead, in the month that had passed since he’d received the bequeathed quilt, he thought more and more about the item of his mother’s. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be difficult to find someone to finish the quilt for him. He was wrong. In his exploration, he discovered quilt making was a multilevel skill, leaving him with many options, but none fulfilling all his needs. His mother used the traditional piecing technique that was time-consuming but not difficult. The same couldn’t be said about the machine quilting she used. Its completion had become important enough that the box traveled with him anytime he explored a new town in his search for an artist to fill his needs. So far the search hadn’t given him any useful results, but he also acknowledged his timing was poor. This close to the winter season, quilters had long backlogs. Despite his track record, he refused to let down his hopes.
Today was a good example. He had driven almost a hundred miles out of his way to investigate another possibility. It wasn’t a bad thing that the early-winter drives were becoming an enjoyable portion of these outings. The scenery, plus the sometimes-colorful local residents, set a pleasant tone. Some of the people were not that different from what he found in the boroughs, while others were unique characters of epic proportion. These were the people Colin discovered he had an affinity with; he could listen to their stories for hours. As he drove through town, there were the typical collection of vintage façades, showcasing the age of the town, and the usual collection of antique shops. The balance seemed to indicate his trip would be a haven of unusual locals.
Then he noticed his latest destination and shrugged. From what he could tell, this store wasn’t what he’d hoped to find. Still, they might be exactly what he needed, but there was only one way to find out. After a brief search, he turned into one of a dozen parking spots.
He stepped out of the car, pulled his coat tighter around him, and strode inside the store. Colin basked in the heat of an antique stove when he walked into the room. Several people nestled around the warmth to work on a variety of projects from their perches among an eclectic group of chairs. When he moved closer, they met him with a smile. One of the cluster set her knitting aside and brushed her hands over her apron.
“Welcome to the Aurora Artisans Cooperative. What can I help you with?”
Colin hesitated before plunging forward, but an instant later charged into his now-familiar questions. “I’m trying to find someone to finish a quilt my mother left me. A shop closer to Ithaca suggested trying here. From what I can see, that wouldn’t be the type of service you provide.”
“No, we’re a co-op for local artists. But we have several fiber artists who make quilts. Their work is in the back room. Go through their artwork. Maybe one of them would be interested in taking on your project. If you see a piece that might work you let me know. I’m Debra and manage the co-op.”
Colin moved into the room she motioned toward. The moment he stepped over the threshold, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. Every available surface was covered with quilts of all descriptions and level of design. With patterns ranging from traditional to abstracted contemporary, Colin struggled to absorb the overwhelming display.
“See something you like?” asked Debra.
Colin pulled his emotions together, turned to her, and smiled. “This is an impressive collection. I’ll need to go through them in detail.”
“Take your time. I’ll be at the stove if you have any questions.” And with that she disappeared.
Uncertain what he wanted, he started through the layers of work. The whole process took more time than he would have guessed. An hour into the evaluations, one piece of artwork caught his eye. A high level of design and craftsmanship was displayed in every stitch. While it was only a small table runner, it showed the talent Colin had been looking for to complete his project. He carried the piece to the front, draped over one arm. The chatter went silent when he stepped into view, and the same clerk greeted him.
She smiled and nodded. “That’s by a talented local artist. He seldom offers a piece for sale; the one you’re holding is the only example we have. We’ve begged for more, but he doesn’t think they are high enough quality.” She waved in the direction of the art on his arm. “It’s obvious he’s not a good judge of his work. I think he’s also very uncomfortable dealing with doing the whole chat with the artist thing. We keep trying to get more consignments from him without success.”
Colin studied the piece, then looked back at the woman. “Does he do custom work? This one is amazing, and I can’t see how he’d have problems finishing my quilt.”
The clerk shrugged. “I don’t know. The best way to find out is to go to his studio and show him what you need.” She moved to a computer, which also served as a register, punched a few keys, wrote on a slip of paper, and handed it to Colin. “That’s Mr. Doyle’s address. It doesn’t do much good to call him. We’ve never been able to reach him over the phone.”
A woman who had been knitting when he came in stopped and studied him for a moment. “His studio is hidden in the trees behind his cabin. This time of year, it’s easier to find, though. If your smartphone gadget can’t locate him, then come back, and we’ll give you old-fashioned directions.”
Colin got a bawdy wink before the woman focused on her knitting again. He looked at the clerk. “His skills are amazing. I’d love to turn my project over to him.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know what kind of chance you might have. As I said, he has a thing about his work. You’d need to ask.”
Colin nodded. “No time like the present. Thanks for the information.” After a last glance around the shop, he made his way out the door.
An hour later found him backtracking down a road he had already driven several times. “224, 225, 227. Where is fucking 226? Did they erase his damn house from the street? Hang on. There are tire tracks over there.”
He slowed to a crawl that brought him to a stop at an almost invisible road that disappeared at the edge of the forest. He pulled in, and the area looked familiar. With a feeling of concern, he let his vehicle ease in the tracks cast in a recent snow.
As he crept down the path, an odd sense of familiarity filled him. He rounded a bend in the driveway an
d knew why. This was Mason’s house.
What the hell? Mason isn’t the artisan I’m looking for. Is he? We parted ways after the blizzard on good terms. This isn’t the worst thing to happen.
He reached the end of the road and rolled to a stop beside the familiar bright red four-wheel-drive truck. Colin wasn’t certain about the exact location of the workshop. He eased himself out of the car and onto the spotless porch. After checking his surroundings one last time, he knocked on the carved front door. He waited a minute before knocking again with more vigor.
“Come around to the studio. I’m back here” came a shout.
Colin made his way, following the voice. When he reached the end of the porch, he realized a footpath started there and disappeared around the corner of the house. Once he rounded the cabin, he spotted the glass-fronted studio set in the forest’s edge. The fascinating building of natural wood and glazing impressed Colin. The double glass doors were open, and when he moved to them, he understood why. The stove in the back of the room sent out excessive waves of heat and left Mason clad in shorts and a T-shirt.
“Come in. I almost have this little monster basted, and I’ll be with you.”
“No problem. Take your time,” Colin said.
Mason glanced toward him and smiled. “Hey, Colin! Good to see you. Make yourself at home.”
With the permission to explore the studio, he did so. It was larger than he remembered Mason’s living quarters being. It also was more contemporary, with bursts of glass and wood in a myriad of angles. As he studied the structure, he realized it was based on the triangles and squares used in quilt patterns. The room was arranged around an enormous nest of tables. One corner held the distinction of being the most illuminated space, no doubt intentionally designed that way. The other area, where Mason was currently working, was dominated by a machine Colin couldn’t identify.