Until Tomorrow (Boot Creek Book 3)

by Nancy Naigle

  “Sorry,” Flynn said.

  He twisted his neck toward the sound of her voice. She was standing outside the makeshift tent. “When did you get up?”

  “A little while ago. I’m an early riser. I thought you might need to get up so you’d have time to shower and eat before you go to the gallery today.”

  Ford eased Billy to the side without waking him. “Thanks,” he whispered. “What time is it?”

  “It’s still pretty early. It’s only six.”

  “Oh, good.” Ford gave an extra wide stretch.

  Billy stirred when Ford yawned.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead.” Ford ruffled Billy’s hair.

  Billy giggled. “Good morning. I forgot we camped.”

  “I did too. Must mean we slept pretty good,” Ford said.

  “It was a fun night, and yummy dessert. Can we have s’mores for breakfast too?”

  “Better than cookies, wasn’t it?” Ford flashed a grin toward Flynn, who was already pursing her lips. He liked her competitive nature. “And way more fun with me here, right?”

  “No way,” Flynn shot back. “Just different fun, right?”

  “It’s always fun here,” said Billy.

  “A tie,” Ford said. But he wasn’t really competing with her. In fact, the three of them being together is what had felt so right about the whole situation.

  “Oh, no you don’t. You better go get ready for work. Billy and I are going to make breakfast. He’s a great helper.” She started toward the kitchen. “A really wonderful blue-ribbon breakfast.”

  “I’ll crack the eggs.”

  “Hope you’re good at that, young man. I don’t like my eggs crunchy,” Ford said as he climbed to his feet and headed inside.

  “He had a good teacher.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He climbed the stairs, a little stiff. It had been a while since he’d camped. Last night was worth a few aches and pains though.

  The hot water in the shower felt good against his tight shoulder muscles. He could stand there forever under the pounding water pressure thinking about Flynn lying under the stars. What her lips would have felt like against his. His hands on her body, but there was no time for that this morning. He dressed in a pair of heavy jeans and a stream-blue Carhartt three-button Henley. He tucked his shirt in and then pulled his leather belt through the loops. He tucked his wallet and keys into his pockets, then grabbed his phone and went downstairs.

  Billy’s and Flynn’s voices floated up the stairwell as he walked downstairs. He’d taken a little too long in the shower. Too bad he wouldn’t have time to eat breakfast with Flynn and Billy, because whatever it was they were fixing smelled delicious.

  “Aunt Flynn said you have to go to school today too,” Billy said when Ford walked into the kitchen.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it like that, but I guess you’re right. Except I’m the teacher.”

  “That’s cool,” Billy said. “You can talk in class and not get in trouble.”

  Ford and Flynn exchanged a smile. “True. Hope you stay out of trouble today, Billy. And Flynn, I’ll see you tonight.”

  “We made you breakfast.” Billy grabbed a bundle off the kitchen island and took it to Ford. “She said you might need it to go. It’s a sammich.”

  “That was really nice of you. Thanks.” Ford took the sandwich.

  “It was her idea,” Billy said. “She’s nice like that.”

  Yes, she was. Almost perfect and, even though he’d come here with her on his mind, being here now almost scared him. She loved this place.

  Flynn leaned against the island. “Have a great day.”

  “It’s off to a really good start.”

  “I know. I am the number one aunt after all.”

  He leaned in and whispered, “You look so fine, even after sleeping outside under the stars, I hate to leave.” Easing back, he glanced down at Billy. If the little guy hadn’t been standing there staring at them, he’d have pulled her up close and shown her exactly how good she looked.

  Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she just smiled and waved her fingers as he turned to leave. His glance caught the slight blush rising in her cheeks.

  Ford got into the old truck. Feeling unusually mellow, maybe content, he didn’t bother to turn on the radio. He’d thought he’d be more excited about today. He’d been planning this session for a while, but in contrast to last night it didn’t seem quite as big a deal.

  Being with Flynn had felt more real than anything he’d imagined. He could see them together, with children, enjoying the simple things in life. Laughing and working on things together.

  The residency was going to pay the bills for a while, and with the gallery closing down, he needed that. After last night he felt inspired to create something extra special just for her, but that would just have to wait until after class. However, after class he was pretty sure the only thing on his mind was going to be hurrying back to her.

  He pulled into a parking spot around back near his studio entrance and went inside to set up. They’d supplied a nice selection of tools for his use, but he’d brought along a few of his favorites. He put all of them where he wanted them, adjusted some of the racks and rods, and then inventoried the glass supplies and colors.

  He’d start the group off with something easy, but cool, to build their confidence and inspire innovation. Push them out of their comfort zone a little, while helping them form partnerships with other students.

  Making art could be solitary, yet the collision of two different thought processes inspired innovation, and that’s when really great art happened. One thing about some of the really big pieces he was so well known for was that sometimes you had to have a partner to help you transition the pieces and stack the glass. It just wasn’t something you could pull off alone if you wanted to really push the science of hot glass techniques. The right partner could make such a big difference on big pieces. He’d been lucky to have worked with some great artists back in Alaska. Too bad most of them didn’t stick around for long.

  A pretty redhead came into the studio, her hair up with a pencil stuck through it. “Ford Morton?” She thrust her hand out and headed toward him like a jouster. “We’re so glad to have you. Our artists are chomping at the bit to learn from you.”

  His hand became sweaty. He shook her hand and mumbled, “Thank you.” Ford never had been good at taking a compliment.

  She glanced at the clipboard in her hand. “I hope it’s okay that we increased the size of today’s session slightly. We had the museum reps from the Norfolk Botanical Gardens in town, and they were so excited when they heard you were here.”

  “I’ve got a couple of pieces displayed there.”

  “That’s what they said.” She clung to the clipboard, pulling it to her chest like a life preserver saving her from rough seas. “We’ve been dying to do some cross sharing of pieces with them, so that’s why I thought to slip them in. They won’t be active participants, just observers.”

  “That’s fine.” Could be a win-win. He might be able to sell them a few new pieces rather than just have the museums swap.

  Attendees started entering the room and chatting. Ford took his time, meeting each one individually and listening to their inspirations and aspirations. He’d have plenty of time to give them information, mentor them, but listening was the best way to be sure he helped each of them meet their individual goals.

  The pretty redhead tapped one of the punty rods against the concrete floor to get everyone’s attention.

  “Good morning, everyone. We’re excited here at PRIZM Glass Art Institute to have one of the top glassblowers in the nation with us. He’s come all the way from Alaska. So when you’re not here in class learning, I bet you’ll hear some pretty interesting stories.” She went on to recite his bio and accolades. This part always made Ford feel weird. It was like bragging.

  Ford stepped forward. “Thank you. I’m honored to be here and t
o share and learn with you. Glassblowing isn’t for the lazy. It’s a fast medium. The spontaneous nature requires us to respond quickly and I think that’s where the real magic of our artistry is. I rarely go into a piece, unless it’s contracted specifically, with an end product in mind. Like in dance, or in music, you have to go with the flow, the rhythm, and the colors as you progress. Letting yourself experiment and remaining unafraid of failure, you’ll come up with something that brings harmony and interest to not only you but the observer.”

  Heads nodded. If he took one thing from all those years in law school it was the ability to draw in a group of people and hold their interest. Wasn’t every group a jury, in a way?

  Four hours later he’d lectured and helped the artists with some simple techniques that would allow them advance no matter what level they currently were.

  They broke for lunch and Ford checked his phone. He had a text from Flynn that a package had arrived for him, asking if he’d like her to bring it over. He started to message her back, but called instead.

  “Hello?”

  Her soft voice felt welcome. “Hey, Flynn. Thanks for the text.”

  “Ford? I didn’t mean to disturb you. The box is from Alaska so I wasn’t sure if it was something you needed for your class today.”

  “I wasn’t expecting anything.” The only people that knew exactly where he was were Chet and Missy. He hadn’t left an address with anyone else.

  “I have an appointment just east of Heron Cove today. I’m happy to drop the package by for you this afternoon when I get done.”

  It could wait, but seeing her here held a certain appeal that he’d rather not let pass. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “Okay, well I’ll see you in a little while. I’ll text when I get there, if that’s okay. Or I could leave it at the front desk.”

  Knowing she was coming by made him stir. He’d just left her a few hours ago, yet he was anxious to see her now. “Come on back to my studio.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’ll see you in a little while.” He hung up the phone and checked his watch. For someone who’d just been put out of a job and was thousands of miles from home, he sure felt on top of the world.

  The students were working on their projects—a takeoff on those standard Christmas ornaments that they sold by the dozens. Things were starting to get real. Each student had been challenged to come up with their own design based on the new techniques Ford had taught them this morning.

  A couple of creations were already looking very promising—one student’s in particular, which integrated feathers of all types and colors. While the rest of the class worked on the assignment, this young lady had tried to find a way to incorporate the task into her feather-focused body of work. Once she’d made the simple glass globe, she’d blown a bright peacock feather, tiny in size but big on design. Even for a seasoned artist it was an impressive piece, and she’d laid it right into the glasswork, layering another and another until the beautiful feathers joined tip to tail around the ornament.

  Ford connected two of the beginners who’d really impressed him with two of the seasoned students. The competitive nature of the new glassblowers pushed the boundaries and innovation of the seasoned artists. Always good to see.

  Half the benefit of this type of instruction was that each of the students also contributed to the learning experience with their own styles and ideas.

  He caught a glimpse of bright turquoise to his left. Flynn stood in the doorway watching, looking fresh and pretty.

  He waved her in, then walked over to greet her.

  She handed him the package. “It’s really impressive to see people working all at once.”

  Ford turned and tried to observe as a first-timer. He’d forgotten the feeling he’d gotten the first time he’d observed hot glass in progress. It had been awe inspiring. Now it was just another day. “You’re getting a treat. These artists are a good bunch. I’m impressed.”

  “I don’t know what I expected, but in my mind I pictured you demonstrating. This is so interactive.”

  “Instruction won’t get you too far in this kind of stuff. You have to get in there and do it. Feel it for yourself. And everyone brings their own little intricacies to the process.”

  “It’s hot in here.”

  “Well, we are melting glass.”

  “Good point. I’d have to blow glass in my bathing suit.” She plucked the blouse from her arm. “I can’t even imagine how hot it is in the summer.”

  Flynn in a bathing suit was something he didn’t mind imagining. Just the thought was making him bust out in a sweat himself. “You get used to it, and you have to wear the right clothes. None of that man-made stuff. If that stuff gets hot, it’ll burn and melt into your skin, and that hurts like the dickens. Can’t risk that.”

  “Don’t you worry that you’ll get burned?”

  “I’m careful.” He opened the package as he spoke. “Son of a gun.”

  “What is it?”

  “These are some ornaments I’d made the first year I was with Glory Glassworks. I haven’t seen them in years. Kind of forgot about them actually.”

  “Let me see.” She leaned in to look at the foam-wrapped box of four ornaments. “They are gorgeous. You made those?”

  “I did.” He lifted a note card out of the box.

  “Everything okay?”

  He nodded as he finished reading. “Yeah. I’m good. I told you about Glory Glassworks going out of business right before I left. I thought this was from Ziegler, the owner of the place. He had these.”

  “Who is it from?”

  “Friend of mine owns a bar in town. He said he bought the whole set for a hundred bucks. Ziegler had to have been mortified. If they’d let him sell the assets himself he’d have brought more than ten times that for this collection.” Ford reread the note. Ziegler had made him promise not to call Ford. “Looks like they are putting the building up for auction next.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Could be. I’d love to buy it. I had plans for that place. I just never knew Ziegler was at risk of losing it. I could’ve helped him.”

  “People are so funny about asking for help.”

  “Like you?”

  “Guilty as charged,” she said. “Thanks for all of your help. I really do appreciate it.”

  “I really do like doing those fixer-upper kind of things.” He couldn’t really say anything about not asking for help, though. He wasn’t one to ask for help either, but now he needed to figure out a way to bid on the Glory Glassworks building. Thank goodness Chet had found a way to avoid breaking his promise to Ziegler to keep the auction quiet by writing about it instead of calling. Chet was wily that way. “Thanks for bringing this by. I appreciate it. It’ll be fun to show these folks something I did back when I was still green too.”

  “That doesn’t look like rookie work to me.”

  He held one of the delicate ornaments by the fourteen karat gold hook. “Sometimes it’s not about how long you’ve invested yourself, but how much of yourself you’ve invested that makes the difference.”

  That comment could apply to him and Flynn. They hadn’t spent much time together, but the time they’d spent was more precious than anything he’d experienced in his life. He wanted more.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A week later, Ford had fallen into an East Coast rhythm and, as much as Alaska was tugging at him in hopes that an auction date would be announced soon for the Glory Glassworks Gallery building, he also felt anxious as the days ticked away to the time he’d be leaving this place behind. And not only this place but Flynn.

  Waking up to the smell of fresh coffee and home cooking each morning could spoil a man. And if that wasn’t enough, her smile was.

  He’d never been much of a morning person, but maybe that was just because he’d never started his days off quite right. Like with fluffy towels and their soft flowery scent. He was dying to know how Flynn looked steppin
g out of the shower and wrapping herself in one of those. So far he’d remained a gentleman. But she was tempting—he needed to make a move soon, or else he’d be leaving here with no romance in his future.

  He drove to work with her on his mind. The radio still set to the station Flynn had dialed in last night when they’d ridden over to Criss Cross Farm for a cookout with Jackson and that gang. He smiled when he recognized Flynn’s favorite song on the radio. She’d mentioned it last night as she belted out the lyrics like she was on the Grand Ole Opry stage with no microphone. She wasn’t a very good singer, but she didn’t seem to care.

  Great. Now that would be in his head all day.

  He turned down the road to PRIZM Glass Art Institute.

  The sign out front still bore the announcement of his arrival and the special sessions he was leading, even though they’d been sold out for over a month. The way things were going he’d be tempted to say yes if they asked him to extend his stay for a week or two to accommodate those on the waiting list.

  He parked and went inside. It was still early, and he liked it when it was quiet like this. Inside, he gathered his materials for this morning’s work session.

  “Good morning, Ford. Before you get started, I want you to meet someone,” Gary said.

  “Sure.” Ford wiped his hands on a rag and walked over to meet the man.

  “This is William Barron. He runs the museum shop down in Norfolk, Virginia. They are interested in talking to you about a showing.”

  Ford extended his hand to the older gentleman. Everything about him looked put together. His suit probably cost as much as Ford earned last month. “Thank you. Nice to meet you, Mr. Barron.”

  “You can call me William. Nice to meet you too. We have three of your latest collection that Winston over at Glory Glassworks Gallery shipped us last month. I tried to contact him last week, but I got an auto-responder reply that said the gallery wasn’t going to be shipping to the lower forty-eight any longer. What’s going on?”

  “Not my story to tell,” Ford said. “But you’ve got it right. I’ve got what he had in inventory at my place in Alaska. I’d be happy to help you. In fact, I’ll be looking to get those pieces placed quickly.”